To Be a Bird of Prey: Origins
by CyberQueens
Summary: Part One of the 'To Be a Bird of Prey' series, 'Origins'. Installment #1 - 'The Hunter and the Prey'. Installment #2 - 'The Coveted': "When the cat's away, the mice will play. Except the mice don't necessarily know the cat's away - and that was, essentially, exactly the problem." Canon-compliant up until 2.05.
1. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 1

_A/N: _

_*pulls up podium*_

_*clears throat*_

_Hello! And welcome to the start of what is basically a Birds of Prey Chronicles thing by yours truly. Now, this is going to be a long-ass series of stories - and when I say long-ass, I **mean** long-ass - and it's going to be largely based on my BoP headcanons. And I figured, in the light of recent spoilers - are you as excited as I am? - that there is no better time than the present to kick this off. _

_Now, a few scribbles. This thing is a pain, organization-wise, for the simple reason that it has two sub-categories. First, the general series is **To Be a Bird of Prey**, which then divides into large chunks of the journey, or **parts**, the first of which is **Origins**. That first sub-category splits into another one, which are the smaller **installments** within the part. So, for this first one, it goes To Be a Bird of Prey - Origins - The Hunter and the Prey. _

_So, two sub-categories, and neither FFnet nor Ao3 allow for proper organization for that. So, what I'll do is, post each part as a separate story, and then clearly mark the installments in the headers within those stories. (It'll be a little easier on Ao3 since it allows for series). And I hope you're not as confused by this as I am. _

_And with that epic A/N out of the way, let's get down to business. _

_**Warning for depictions of violence**. It is on the graphic side - no detailed descriptions of evisceration or anything, but this starts with Helena's POV, and well, she does like her violence. _

_That all said, I hope you enjoy! ('cause I really am very excited to be writing this)_

* * *

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

**_Origins_**

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter One _

Coast City was beautiful to most people. The long beach, the tall waves and the smell of the sea the wind carried. The heavy sound of military aircrafts every now and then, be it for tests or exhibitions; some people liked that. They stood and pointed – even clapped, sometimes. To them, the city under the sun was beautiful.

Helena didn't see any of that beauty. She came out when the sun went down, and what she saw were the darkness of what lived under the city, and the rats in the sewers.

And right now, she was chasing a rat.

The old subway rails held no light, but the rat did; the bright white glow of his cellphone's flash bounced and flittered, and Helena chased after it. The brittle wood and the gravel crunched beneath her feet while the blood rush thumped loudly in her ear, but she would catch him, any second now. The rat was one of her father's old associates, and he knew where he was; or at least, he knew someone who did. Her father still had friends who helped him hide, but she would hunt down every last one of them, until they finally led her to Frank Bertinelli.

They called her the Huntress after all.

The light grew closer and closer, until she could finally see the man within reach; she raised her crossbow and fired at his leg. He fell down with a yell, and Helena heard the soft crunch of bone when his face hit the inert metal of the rails.

She kicked his side to get him on his back, digging a knee into his gut as she pointed her crossbow right between his eyes. Blood poured from his broken nose and the gash that ran along his cheekbone; her hand found a fistful of his shirt. "Where is Frank Bertinelli?" she demanded.

The rat whimpered. Of course he did. "I – I don't know!" he gurgled, choking on his own blood. "I haven't heard from Frank in a year, p-please, I don't know!"

She didn't have the patience for this. Grabbing him by the throat, she hissed, "Then who does?"

He shook his head, coughing. "I d-don't know, I don't know!"

Helena removed her hand from his windpipe, moving it instead to the arrow she'd put in his leg; she grabbed and twisted. He screamed this time. "Don't lie to me!" she screamed back.

More whimpers and begging came from the rat, before finally, he spilled something useful. "T-the casino by the docks," he said. "Frank had f-friends there, they know – they know where he is, they help him – "

Helena dug her knee deeper into his stomach, to cut off his breath and his words; she had what she needed. She smiled faintly, and rose to her feet, crossbow loaded and pointed at his chest. "Thank you for your cooperation," she said, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

At night, the docks were right as she knew they would be; dark with foreboding and the uncomfortable sight of the water made black in the corner of your eye. Helena was fine with the darkness.

The casino she had been told about was right in her line of sight, from where she was ducked behind a dumpster; the stench made it clear there was at least one body there to be taken to the landfill for disposal with the other trash in the morning. She was in the right place.

Helena moved slowly, sticking to the wall of the back alley; she needed to find a way in, and to the boss's office. He would have the information she needed.

She had made her way right up to the back entrance, but there were two enforcers there, having a smoke; she could take them out. She raised her weapon, aimed and placed her finger on the trigger –

A shot rang out from behind her, missing her shoulder when she ducked and sending plaster dust flying instead. She rolled to the alley's opposite side, turning her crossbow away from the enforcers and to where she had come from; to the man who had shot at her, and he wasn't alone either.

She fired, putting one of the men down, but three were still left; and the other two were coming at her from the other side, with their own guns drawn. She wouldn't let herself get cornered.

She engaged them, putting her fists to their weak points and backhanding them with her crossbow, dodging their bullets and kicking at their guns where she could. But even with another one down for the count, there were still four left, and soon, her crossbow was yanked from her grasp. She resorted to hand-to-hand combat, and though she could match and surpass any one of them one-on-one, or two-to-one, four-to-one were not odds in her favor.

One of them grabbed her hair, and second later, another had her arms pinned behind her back. She kicked, screaming out in anger.

Soon though, they were screaming, too.

The filthy glass of the back alley windows shattered, along with the lone streetlight that cut the darkness; the high-pitched sound that surrounded them hurt Helena's ears – and the men's, too. They yelled and shouted, and she felt the pair of hands holding her let go and her captor's weight fall away. The men were hunched over, two of them on their knees, and all holding their hands over their ears.

Helena gritted her teeth through the pain and looked up.

Another woman stood before her, hand outstretched and fingers curled around what looked like a ball of bright blue light. Helena focused her blurring sight, and recognized it was a device – and if she had to guess, she would say it was causing the vibrations in the air that made her eardrums feel like they too were shattering as those windows had.

The woman blended in with the black of the night, save for the strands of bleach-blonde hair that stood out against the darkness; it took Helena a moment to realize the noise had stopped.

And that was her cue.

She kneed one of the men on the ground under the chin, enjoying the sound of his neck cracking under the impact; she kicked at his chest to put him to the ground for good. Her crossbow lay close by and she lunged for it, straightening just in time to see the twirl of a bo-staff send one of the other men to the ground. She vaguely heard him say something, spit out some insult as he scratched the ground for his gun; the bo-staff was under his chin next, and his neck snapped with a crack.

Helena felt someone grab her ankle and fired on instinct; the hold loosened and the third man fell at her feet, an arrow in his neck.

She turned around, too see the woman approaching the fourth man; the last one. "I need one of them alive!" Helena yelled, and the woman stopped in her tracks. She turned to the side a fraction, and though the darkness didn't allow her to see her eyes, Helena knew the woman was watching her. Eventually, she saw her nod, ever-so-slightly.

And with that, the woman was gone, just as quickly as she had appeared.

Helena stood unmoving for a moment, eyes trained on the spot where she had last seen her.

The device, the black-on-black get-up, the bo-staff; she knew who the woman was. She was on the hunt and never in one place for long, but she'd still kept tabs on the city she used to call home; rumor went, there was a woman in Starling, another vigilante. She had even been seen with the Arrow once – with Oliver. And rumor also went, she didn't tolerate men who attacked other women.

So, she knew the woman. She didn't know, however, what had brought her to Coast City.

A grunt drew her attention, and to the lone goon trying to get up from the pavement. Helena shook off thoughts of the other woman, and stepped forward. She had a hunt to get back to.

She grabbed the man by the hair, pressing the tip of her crossbow to his neck. Leaning in, she ordered, "Take me to your boss."


	2. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 2

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Two_

The boss did have the information she needed. And he'd given it up, after some persuasion and even more of his men lying face-first on the ground.

This time, the hunt would take her to Edge City.

Sometimes, Helena wondered if all these men were sending her on a wild goose chase. Fear was a powerful motivator for the truth, but there were those who were still loyal to her father. And then there were those who didn't take her seriously, who thought they were better than her. She killed them all anyway.

The fact remained that she had a new lead, and she would follow it through. She would chase the breadcrumbs until they led her to her father.

She was reluctant to leave Coast City yet, though. The woman she had seen the previous night – her presence held Helena back. Whoever she was, the woman was also a friend of Oliver's – she'd worked with him, at the very least. And that knowledge was not something Helena could simply let go.

So, she went on a different hunt this time.

The city's west side held a trail of beat-up rapists, attackers and even purse-snatchers, which was easy enough to follow if you knew your trade. When the sun went down again, Helena followed the trail, to a middle-class neighborhood on the west side; the pattern she had studied helped narrow it down to a ten-block radius. Somewhere in those buildings, there was something that had drawn the attention of the woman in black.

And Helena hoped that her standing on the rooftop of the tallest building would also draw the woman's attention.

She didn't disappoint.

There wasn't even a sound to make her presence known, only the prickle in her gut making Helena sense she wasn't alone. She smiled into the darkness, loaded her crossbow, and turned.

The woman stood before her as she had the night before, bo-staff slung over her shoulder. "You do live up to your name," she commented.

Helena cocked her head to the side. "You know who I am, then?"

"Few don't," the woman retorted.

That was true. In no small part thanks to the one acquaintance they shared.

"I know you, too," Helena said. "You've worked with the Hood" – she rolled her eyes – "or the Arrow, as he likes to call himself these days."

"So have you," the woman told her, nodding pointedly in the direction of her crossbow; Helena narrowed her eyes.

"We didn't exactly part on the best of terms," she spoke, adjusting her grip and her stance. "Which is why I don't like it when I run into one of his friends." She cast a casual glance to the surrounding buildings, bringing her eyes back to the woman with a smirk. "So, I'm curious," she began, "what it is in these buildings that brought you here? This is your comfort zone. There has to be something." She raised an eyebrow. "_Someone_?"

The woman shifted her stance at that, turning hostile. Helena's smile widened; she'd hit a nerve, then.

"That doesn't concern you," came the woman's warning, to which Helena merely adjusted her aim.

"I have an axe to grind with the Arrow," she said. "Any friend of his concerns me."

"So I've heard," the woman fired back, and Helena ground her teeth at the tone. "If you have a score to settle with the Arrow," she went on, "there are more honorable ways to go about it."

Helena had to chuckle at that one. Lowering her crossbow, she prompted, "Indulge me on this one: what did he tell you to lure you in? You see, I know him." She took a step closer. "He uses people. Manipulates them when it suits him. He did it to me. So, how did he _go about it_ with you?"

She received no response, but Helena knew she was right; if the woman had ever met Oliver, then he had used her in some way. It was what he did. Especially to the women in his life. Her personal favorite was when he used women to manipulate _other_ women. Like he had her with the memory of Laurel Lance's dead sister.

She had unfinished business with the Arrow, and this woman in black could be leverage. She could pay some attention to a different kind of hunt, Helena decided, if only for a while.

"The way I understand it, you already have your crusade, Huntress," the woman spoke then. "Stick to it."

Helena didn't bother raising her crossbow again as the woman retreated, and went out of sight.

The woman was right, Helena would give her that; she did have her crusade. But taking orders from vigilantes with a hypocrite's code of honor? She didn't think so.

* * *

Her arrangements in Coast City had definitely become more permanent.

And her run-ins with the woman in black more frequent.

Two weeks in, it almost became a game.

Helena trailed her wherever she went, and sometimes the woman noticed, and sometimes she didn't; of course, the latter was debatable. Helena had observed the woman, studied her, and somehow, she doubted anything escaped her notice; then again, maybe the challenge had improved her stealth.

Helena also had to admit, the woman was _good_. The way she fought, the way she used the shadows to her advantage; from what Helena had seen, very few could match on the woman on any playing field.

Of course, what she _hadn't_ seen held the most interest to her. And that was the source of the woman's stay in Coast City; there was someone in the city the woman had come to see, Helena was sure of it, but as she had also exposed her intentions, the woman had taken precautions and had stayed away from the source of her visit.

Which had led this little cat-and-mouse game they played.

Some nights, it was just a glance. On others, they bypassed each other entirely. And on one particular occasion, Helena had given the woman a helping hand – she didn't care much for vigilantes or their business, but when the save involved taking down men who'd tried to threaten a teenager at knifepoint into blowing them in back alley of a club, she took exception. She'd stood on the club's roof, while the woman dealt the men blows with her staff, and traded her crossbow for one of the guns she carried at her belt. Some people didn't deserve an arrow to the heart. They only deserved a bullet to the head.

The gunshot – and subsequent blood spatter – had scared the other men, and when the woman broke their necks, Helena knew they had died in fear. The woman, whom Helena still didn't really know what to call, had looked up at her then, and nodded.

And then they went back to their routine.

Helena wasn't sure what her primary goal was after a while, whether it was gaining leverage on the woman and therefore Oliver, or just playing this little game of theirs. Either way, she was having fun.

* * *

Another week in, and the fun seemed to be at an end.

Coast City, much like her hometown, was full of abandoned, decaying buildings on its outskirts; Helena had followed the woman to one such place tonight, keeping to the shadows of a nearby rooftop that offered a good vantage point. And then just like that, the woman wasn't alone anymore. Three other figures were in her path now, and they made her pull her bo-staff into fighting stance immediately. Helena counted two men and woman among the new arrivals; their posture and the blackness of their clothes reminded her of the woman's own, but the details on their hoods and masks – those reminded her of the Dark Archer.

Helena crouched low, keeping a careful eye on the party below over the rooftop's edge. They all stood still facing each other, until the man in the middle spoke.

"The daughter of Ra's al Ghul still waits on your return, beloved," he said.

Hearing the words made Helena still. _Ra's al Ghul?_ Ra's al Ghul and his League of Assassins were only a myth – one she'd heard many times in many forms while she circled the world. _Unless…_

She bit down on her lip. That certainly put a new spin on things.

"You know I'm not going back," the woman retorted, much to the others' displeasure, it seemed.

"You will," the other man said, "or we shall take what is precious to you in this city."

Helena narrowed her eyes at the words; so, these three knew who it was the woman had come to see in Coast City. And evidently, their threats weren't appreciated.

"I won't let you," the woman warned.

"You may be stronger than any _one_ of us, _aletyewr alesfera',"_ the man spoke again, "but not three of us."

_Three against one?_ Helena thought. Well, that would just not do.

She loaded her crossbow carefully, propping her elbows on the parapet as she took her aim. She pulled the trigger and the arrow whizzed through the air, embedding itself in one of the men's throat as it sliced through his hood. Now it was going to be two against two. Those were the kind of odds she liked.

Helena leaped to her feet, using the ledge to gain momentum as she jumped down. She landed on one knee, scraping the leather of her glove against the ground. Looking up to the three left standing, she smirked before rising to her feet.

"What are you doing?" the woman hissed at her, to which Helena only took a step closer.

"I like a good fight," she said, aiming at the second man.

He seemed to take her cue.

Stepping to the side, he left his better half to fight the woman, who engaged her quickly, while he went for Helena, drawing a katana.

That was new.

Helena loaded and fired arrow after arrow, which were all met with a slice of the katana; the man twirled it in his hand, made it cut both the air and her arrows as they came at him. She needed a different approach, then. Throwing her crossbow to the ground, Helena backed up a few steps, waiting for the man to come to her.

She ducked under his blade when he swung at her, sidestepping him and hooking a foot around his ankle to try and trip him; he tripped her instead. She pushed her legs over head to keep herself from ending on her back and landed on the balls of her feet; her hands scraped the ground again.

Rising quickly, she ran at him as he did at her, avoiding impact by leaping for a dumpster to the side; she bounced off the metal and threw herself at the man from above. They both went to the ground, his katana sliding out of reach, and when the man used his shoulder to roll them over, Helena wound her legs around his neck. She tried to twist and break his spine, but he hooked an arm around her leg and pulled. She growled in pain when he threw her off; she rolled over and braced herself on her hands and swung her leg in a circle, hitting him at his ankles. He flew back but flipped, landing on his hands before he was on his feet once more. Helena growled again.

She rose, too, resorting to hand-to-hand combat. She met his blows and deflated his kicks, but he was faster than her – and as loath as she was to admit it, _better_.

A punch to her jaw and kick to her stomach had her flying backwards, and her entire body hit the ground this time. She propped herself on her elbows, tasting blood on her lip. She licked it away from the corner of her mouth, narrowing her eyes. Fun over, then. Time to end this.

She rolled to the side and on one knee before rising fully. She reached through the slits up the sides of her coat, to where her guns were holstered against her lower back. She grabbed both, swung them around until they aimed forward; she flicked the safety off with her thumbs and pulled both triggers.

The man went down without another word.

Helena pulled in deep breaths to calm her heartbeat again, and as she looked to the side while she holstered her weapons again and moved to pick up her crossbow, she saw the woman had won her fight, too, and had the last remaining visitor in a headlock with her bo-staff.

"Repeat my message to Ra's al Ghul," Helena heard her tell the woman she had in her hold. "My family is off limits, and his quarrel is with _me_. And make sure his daughter hears it, too."

She waited for the woman to nod before letting her go, and soon, it was just the two of them left again.

There was silence for a moment, before Helena decided to break it. "Family?" she echoed. "So, that's why you're in Coast City."

The woman's hair whipped at her cheeks as she turned sharply; her anger was still written all over her posture and the features of her face Helena could vaguely make out in the dark. "We need to talk," the woman told her. "But not here. Come with me." She moved then, to scale one of the dank brick walls surrounding them.

_Good_, Helena thought, and followed suit.


	3. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 3

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Three_

Another rooftop, another _tête_-à-_tête_; maybe this one would be more insightful.

"So," Helena began, stepping up to the woman who had her back to her, "is that what they call you? _Beloved_?" She pursed her lips. "Or is it that other thing your buddy back there called you, whatever it was? I don't speak Arabic."

"_Aletyewr alesfera'_," the woman spoke, turning around. "It means 'yellow bird'."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "So what you're saying is, they basically called you a canary?"

"I _chose_ to be called Canary," came the woman's reply. "It holds a lot of meaning to me."

Well, at least she had a name to call her by now. "To me, it looks like you flew away from the nest, _Canary_," Helena said, then chuckled. "The League of Assassins," she let out. "I did not see that one coming." With a shake of her head, she took a step closer, and smirked. "And now I'm curious, if you had to _repeat_ your message, then they've found you before – in Starling City, right? And you're _here_ for your family, but I'm thinking you have someone in Starling, too. Now _that_ is interesting."

The tip of the woman's – the _Canary's_ staff was under her chin in the blink of an eye. "You've helped me," she said, "and not just tonight. So, what exactly do you want, Huntress?"

"You know who I am," Helena retorted, "and you're bosom buddies with the Hood, so I think you have a pretty clear idea of what I want."

The Canary nodded. "Frank Bertinelli," she said. "The Arrow, too, obviously. You want revenge."

Helena smiled at that, then grabbed the staff that was still pointed at her, holding it tightly in her grasp. "And you're the best ticket to one of those I've had in a long time."

"So, you want to use me, leverage me, to get back at the Arrow somehow? That's funny, because a couple of weeks ago, you told me _he_ was the one who used people." The bo-staff was yanked out of Helena's grasp with a sharp tug, making her stumble forward a step. "We've been circling each other for a while now, Huntress," the Canary went on, "and I think I've grown fond of you, but if I can challenge Ra's al Ghul for the safety of my family, what makes you think I won't put an end to _your_ threats?"

Helena straightened her spine, raising her crossbow. "You haven't yet," she pointed out. "So, what gives?" She grinned. "You've grown fond of me, have you?"

"Yes," the Canary said, flatly. "There is more to you than your revenge, I can _see_ it, but I also see the _mess_ you're making of it."

Well, that was rude. "You and the Hood – sorry, the _Arrow_ – really are two peas in a pod." She felt her lip curl. "He liked to get all high and mighty, too."

"I'm as much of a killer as you are," the Canary retorted, "so I'm not well-placed to teach anyone morality, but you can't live on your revenge alone."

Helena cocked her head. "And you want to save me from myself, just like he did," she commented. "If you try and sleep with me next, I'll have bingo."

"I am not inextricably tied to the Arrow, and neither are you!" the Canary raised her voice. "You've helped me, and it had nothing do with him."

"Actually, I need you alive for his benefit," Helena corrected. "And like I said, I do enjoy a good fight."

"And the girl you helped me save?"

Helena held her tongue at that, and the Canary seemed to take her silence as victory. "You have your idea of justice," she said. "That's why you want your father dead. Why you want the Arrow to suffer. Why you helped me save the girl in the alley. There are some things you won't stand for, and it has nothing to do with the revenge you seek."

Well, wasn't that nice. Problem was, Helena had been through it enough times to recognize manipulation when she heard it. "So, what?" she challenged, spreading her arms out wide while the Canary's eyes tracked the crossbow she still held a little apprehensively. "I'm better than I think I am, I should let it go – something like that?"

She didn't get her answer right away. Instead, the Canary seemed to think her answer over, and when she did speak, her words were quiet and measured. "Keep in mind where I came from, Huntress," she said. "Once you swear an oath to the League of Assassins, you only have one purpose – to _kill_. And I've seen people get lost in that purpose – not in the sense that they twist it, but they abide by it so strictly that in the end, it's all that's left to them." She paused there and looked over the city, then brought her eyes back to Helena. "And sometimes, I got lost in it, too – until I remembered my family. If I had let myself forget them, I would have never come back. I had to remember I was more than my purpose – more than an assassin. It's hard to truly value what soul you have left until you're on the brink of losing it."

"You're trying to save my _soul_? Really?"

"No." The other woman shook her head. "All I'm saying is, you've found a purpose for yourself; to kill your father – maybe the Arrow, too, right? And it's all too easy to get lost in a purpose like yours. But it's your choice."

"Well, that settles it, then," Helena concluded. "We're done with this little – what? Pep-talk?"

"Just one more thing," the Canary said. "After you've killed your father and made the Arrow pay in whatever way you want to – what happens then?"

What sort of question was that? Helena narrowed her eyes, adjusting her aim.

"When your purpose is over," the Canary went on, stepping closer, so that the arrow's tip was nearly touching her chest, "what will you be then?" At this distance, Helena could finally see the woman's features clearly; freckled fair skin, a dimpled chin and bright blue eyes. If she took off her mask, Helena bet she would be beautiful.

"Why do you care?" Helena answered the question with one of her own.

The Canary's mouth pulled at the corner. "I told you, I've grown fond of you," she said. "And...I don't know if you've noticed, but we kind of work well together – even inadvertently. Imagine if we _really_ put our minds to it."

Helena couldn't help but laugh at that one. "You want to recruit me into vigilantism?" She chuckled again, lowering her weapon. "Sorry to disappoint, Canary, but you should do some fact-checking with your friend back in Starling first. He tried to rope me into it, too." She shrugged. "Didn't work out."

"Well, his isn't the only way," the Canary countered. "You know, I have another friend in Starling," she added, "and she believes in second chances. But more importantly, she believes that the reasons behind our actions are just as important – if not _more_ important than the actions themselves." It was her turn to shrug. "I like to think she's right."

"Again, sorry to disappoint, but I have absolutely no desire to rescue puppies and help old ladies."

"But you do like a certain kind of justice," the Canary stated. "And some debts need to be paid in blood." She took another step closer – so close, her eyes were the only thing Helena saw. "And once you've collected your debt, you'll need something to fall back on."

There was a voice in her head, and she hated it, because it taunted her – it told her the Canary was right. It tortured her with images of Michael, alive and dead. Being good and noble got people killed, like it had him, and once you had nothing left to love, you were only stuck with the things you hate – like her father. Some debts did need to be paid in blood.

But Michael had been all about love. Love for her, love for justice, love for _life_ – and Frank Bertinelli had taken it all away from both of them. She had no one left to love these days – though she did love the hunt. She loved to make people _pay_.

Michael wouldn't have liked that.

But he was dead.

It was a nice thing, she supposed, to have something 'to fall back on'. Something to love. But you needed to be at peace to have love, and she would not have peace until her father was dead, too.

"So, what are you suggesting?" she asked the Canary. "We pack up, go globetrotting together? Thanks, but I'll pass."

After a beat, the other woman nodded. "All right," she said. "You have a job to finish, I get that. But how about I help you finish it?"

That one, Helena hadn't seen coming. She knew the vigilantes' manipulation playbook by heart, but this was new. It must have shown on her face, because the Canary was almost smiling now. "I can help you find your father," she went on with her proposal. "I'm good at finding my targets. I'll bring you to him. And you can kill him, finish your crusade. You saved me tonight. I owe you. And this is how I can repay you."

That just...felt like a trap.

"I told you, I'm not like the Arrow," the Canary added, seemingly sensing Helena's line of thought. "You have a score to settle, I can understand that. And I owe you a favor. Once your father is dead, we can go our separate ways. Or you can try and use me to get revenge against our hooded friend. Or – " she smiled wider this time – "you can come with me."

It sounded like a good offer. _Too_ good, in fact.

"That all sounds very nice," Helena said, "but you know what they say. Don't take candy from strangers."

The Canary nodded, as if to say she understood. She surprised Helena again when she gestured to her mask and what was obviously a wig, then spread her arms out; she was telling her to unmask her, Helena realized.

Though it all still felt like a trick, she couldn't help her curiosity. She raised her free hand slowly, watching for any sudden movements, any indication of an impending trap; she got neither. Her fingers curled around the wig's coarse strands, and when she pulled, it came off, along with the black mask.

Even as her hand fell back at her side, still clutching the wig, Helena recognized the woman's face; she'd never met her, but she _knew_ her. And it was the biggest surprise of the night.

"My name is Sara Lance."


	4. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 4

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Four_

_Sara Lance_.

The female vigilante hopping from Starling to Coast City, the Canary being hunted by the League of Assassins – it was Sara Lance.

She'd been at her grave – empty though as it was. Oliver had taken her there. Held her hand as he used the memory of the dearly departed Sara Lance to manipulate her.

Her anger came quickly, and it burned white hot. She threw the wig back at the woman – at _Sara_ – and raised her crossbow again. "Is he making you do this?" she spat, pulling sharp breaths through her teeth. "He's using you to manipulate me _again_!"

"What are you talking about?"

Sara sounded surprised, but she could be faking it – like she had faked her death, evidently.

"It's not enough that he takes me to your grave, makes all these speeches about guilt and purpose and understanding, he has to send you in person to do the dirty work now!"

"Helena – "

"Don't you dare!" she yelled. "You don't know me!"

"Listen to m – "

Helena sent her arrow flying; even with the small distance between them, Sara's hand came up, and caught it. Her fingers curled around the shaft, with the arrowhead just against her heart; she looked down at it, then back up. Helena didn't care for the warning she saw there.

With a growl, she tossed aside her weapon and charged; the staff came between her and her target, and she grabbed it with both hands. _Sara_ tried to throw her off but Helena countered it, putting her strength into a shove to the right and catching the other woman in the shoulder with her own staff.

That seemed to piss her off. _Good_.

The bo-staff was suddenly split in two, with one baton in each of Sara's hands, Helena parried the blows, taking the metal's sting on her elbows, until she had her opening. She slipped her arms in-between her opponents, pushing outward and sliding her hands along the black leather of Sara's sleeves until she had grasped both halves of her staff in her hands; she held her there, then threw herself forward and headbutted the other woman.

She went down, and Helena had her weapons. Sara didn't stay sprawled on the dirty concrete long and rolled into a crouch, like a animal waiting to pounce; Helena wasn't unlike one, either.

She brought one of the batons down but it only screeched against the ground as Sara moved out of its reach; then, she hooked an arm around Helena's ankle. They both went down, the batons rolling away from either's reach. Sara tried to gain control and stay on top but Helena brought a leg around her hip and pushed, throwing her off balance and on her back.

She could taste dirt and blood and the stringy feeling of her own hair in her mouth but Helena still aimed her blows at Sara's face; screaming out every time she missed or one of her punches was blocked. She did manage to get in one decent blow to Sara's jaw before she got one to her kidney, courtesy of the other woman shoving a knee to her lower back.

Next thing she knew, Sara was extricating herself from beneath her and she was being hauled back up her feet, with Sara behind her and her forearm against her windpipe; she latched onto it with both hands and growled again.

"You need to calm down," she heard the hiss in her ear, drowned out by the blood rushing to her head.

Helena didn't speak, only pulling heavy breaths through her teeth, which Sara seemed to take as her cue to keep talking. "I didn't know about what happened with Oliver," she said – obviously, they were dropping the last of the pretenses. "I'm still not sure what it was he did exactly, but I am not your enemy. And you need to calm down."

With another cry, Helena bucked and tried to throw her off again; this time, Sara let her.

Helena stumbled forward, swallowing past the sob of anger in her throat as she whirled around. "He told me he would never hurt me!" she shouted. "After I told him everything, he promised – he _promised_ me! – that he would never hurt me! But last time I saw him, he was shooting an arrow to my chest!" She gulped in air, clenching her fists. "And he made me that promise while we were at your grave – " she jabbed her finger in Sara's direction, the adrenaline making her hand shake – "he took me to your grave to manipulate me! To lie to me! All that big speech about how sleeping with you hurt those he loved, how he was selfish, how he watched you drown – he lied about that, too!"

Sara had dropped her gaze to the ground. Helena watched her close her eyes for a moment, lick her lips, then take a deep breath. "I didn't know," she repeated quietly. "And the truth is, Oliver and I have a much more complicated history than you know." With another deep breath, she stepped closer again; Helena backed away. "But I'm not him," Sara said. "And I don't work _for_ him. Whatever he did to you, it has nothing to do with me."

Helena let out a chuckle at that; she hoped it sounded as bitter as it felt.

After a moment, Sara nodded. "Well, my offer still stands," she told her as she bent to pick up her mask and wig and pulled them back on. "If you change your mind, I'm sure you'll find a way to let me know."

Helena didn't bother chasing after her when she leaped off the rooftop.

* * *

For the first time in a long time, Helena walked the city in daylight.

She had a wig, glasses and a hat, so it was doubtful anyone would recognize her – if anyone were still even looking for her.

It felt odd, to adjust her sight to sunlight instead of darkness, to feel the scalding heat on her skin. She strolled down the beach, finding a spot where no one ventured to by the rocky part of the shore; she still preferred to be alone.

The loneliness was what she knew now, and honestly, she liked it that way. That day, at Sara's grave, she'd told Oliver that Michael would be the last person she had ever let in – and Oliver had found a way to worm around her words, to make her believe that it would be safe to open her heart again. And then all he'd done was to confirm that she'd been right in keeping it locked away.

Letting people in meant depending on them. Trusting them. Having faith they wouldn't betray you. It was, essentially, what Sara Lance was asking her to do. But she was done with all of that.

Still, some of the things the other woman said had resonated with Helena. The need for something to fall back on – and more than that, the dispensing of justice. _Her_ justice. Helena liked that idea.

Of course, trusting Sara Lance was not an option; not even if she had believed her for a second in her 'good and honorable intentions'. A favor for a favor? It was a nice idea in theory, and from what Helena had heard, a member of the League of Assassin was as deadly as they were honorable – in their own way, of course. They followed their code. Except Sara had broken it – and if she could break an oath made to Ra's al Ghul, what on Earth would make Helena believe that she would uphold her word to _her_?

But the thing was – the annoying, infuriating thing was, Sara had broken her vow to come back to her family. She'd done it for those she cared about – those she _loved_. And Helena, too, had started her crusade because of the one person she had loved with everything she had in her. In the end, there was only one thing you were truly loyal to, and Helena could understand, though she hated it, why Sara had made her choice.

But to make an alliance with someone so close to Oliver? That was – it was unthinkable. Oliver's friends were her enemies.

Then again, a member of the League of Assassins helping her track her father? That would end her hunt in a matter of weeks.

_And what happens then?_

She could go after Oliver. Settle their score once and for all.

_And after that?_

Honestly, she had no idea. She didn't have many plans beyond finishing her hunt.

Working – in the loose sense of the term – with Sara could be a way to kill two birds with one stone; her father would receive an arrow to the heart, and in the aftermath, Helena could still find a way to leverage the 'Canary' against her dear friend, the Arrow.

Of course, she doubted Sara was a fool – and she definitely knew she wasn't easily beaten. But maybe, if she played her cards right...

Helena rose to her feet, and couldn't help her smile. Her hunt was about to get interesting.

* * *

Letting Sara know she would accept her proposal took a bit of time. Five days, to be precise.

Helena decided that the best calling card she could leave was a trail of her own for the Canary to follow; that was, after all, kind of their thing.

She kept to a specific zone on the east side, going after the kind of low-lives Sara had an affinity for; rapists, musclebound creeps who liked to bully women, self-important men who thought that they had the right to get more than they'd paid for from a prostitute. And Helena had to admit, she'd very much enjoyed taking down every last one of them.

On the fifth night of her routine, Sara found her in a vacant parking lot.

"I've decided to take you up on your offer," Helena told her, then smirked. "Let's go find my father."

The other woman stepped closer. "Do you know where we should start?"

"Edge City."

After a moment, Sara nodded. "Then let's go to Edge City."


	5. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 5

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

**_Origins_**

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Five_

If there was any place more corrupted than Starling, it had to be Edge City.

Walking by the riverbank, you could smell the stench of the sewage – and all the bodies floating in the water, if you knew how to differentiate between the two. Helena certainly did. She assumed Sara did, too.

Playing roommates with Sara Lance was weird; they'd mostly spent their first evening in the city looking for a place to stay. Helena would have been content with any of the abandoned factories or squatters' save havens – hell, a storage room. But Sara wanted a good vantage point.

So, here they were now, camping out in the bell tower of an abandoned church – which, Helena had to admit, was kind of funny. Two killers, about to do more killing – hiding in a church.

"Aren't you worried God will smite us down?" Helena commented once they had settled, directing her question at Sara's back; from the few hours they'd been here, she'd gathered that the other woman had a thing for staring out the windows and into the night.

It took a moment for Sara to respond. "I killed a priest once," she informed, not turning around. "At the altar, after his sermon. If God didn't smite me then..."

Helena raised an eyebrow, then asked, "Ever killed anyone I'd know?"

Another bout of silence. "Could be."

Helena had also gathered that Sara had thing for being vague and cryptic. Rolling her eyes, she prompted, "So, what's the plan? I mean, I have my methods, but I'm thinking you have some tricks of the trade that I don't."

Talking shop seemed to be the way to get Sara to pry her eyes away from the city down below; she turned around, then said, "Well, you brought me up to speed with your father's contacts in this city, so that's a place to dig. But," she added, "that draws attention. The best way is always to go to those your target never sees – the shop owner at the corner, the homeless. And of course, then there's observing your target or their associates without engaging."

"What, no tracking credit card activity in the assassins' textbook?" Helena quipped.

Sara pursed her lips. "The League doesn't exactly...keep up with the times. Not if they can help it." She shrugged. "Besides, that's not my area of expertise, and I'm pretty sure it's not yours either." She seemed to have a thought then, so she added, "My friend is Starling could help with that, though I don't think I can ask it of her."

"Is this the same friend who believes in second chances?"

"Yes."

And that confirmed the nagging feeling she'd been having about this female friend's identity, Helena thought. "Yeah, I don't think she'd be willing to help on this one."

Sara must have felt the undercurrent in her voice, because the next question leaving her mouth was, "You know her?"

"Felicity Smoak, right?" At Sara's nod, Helena said, "We've...met. And well, let's just say I'm _positive_ she wouldn't want to help with anything to do with me." Not if she weren't under duress, anyway.

And Sara seemed to pick up on that line of thought. "What did you do to her?"

"Easy on the judgmental tone there, birdy," Helena told her, though it only made her narrow her eyes, plant her feet – and wait for her answer, evidently.

Eventually, and mindful of the game she was playing, Helena obliged. "Last time I was in Starling," she said, "I...made her hack into the FBI database while pointing an arrow to her head. Then I tied her up and left her on her office floor."

Sara went dead silent at that, though Helena could practically _feel_ the judgment hitting her square in the face. "Hey, you still owe me, remember?" she reminded.

"I haven't forgotten," Sara said tightly. Then, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I can try and kill _you_, but threatening _Felicity Smoak_ is a deal-breaker?" Helena couldn't help but comment.

"I never said I completely agreed with your ways," Sara deadpanned. "And our deal still stands," she added. "I _will_ help you find your father."

"Good."

Sara shook her head, as if to rid herself of whatever she was thinking, and said, "We can start tonight. You said there's a branch of the Italian mob here your father would go to for help – we'll start there."

Helena nodded. "The Sabatino family. Gotham got a little too competitive for them, so they moved their business here." She shrugged. "Johnny Sabatino and my father were good friends – which is why Guss Sabatino represented my father. I may have killed Guss and run the Bertinelli empire to the ground, but old loyalties die hard."

"What businesses do they own?"

"Restaurant chain," Helena informed, then smirked. "Italian cuisine."

"And I'm willing to bet there are regulars coming for the leftovers in the back alley," Sara said. "We'll do the rounds, see what we can gather." She paused for a moment, then pursed her lips. "You don't happen to have any money on you, do you?"

Helena only raised an eyebrow in response.

Sara nodded, moving to slide her mask and wig in place before she secured the two halves of her bo-staff at her belt. "We'll rob a store on the way," she said. "Let's go."

* * *

They had gone through three restaurants before they caught a break.

As Sara had predicted, they had come across the homeless next to the back alley dumpsters, either digging for food, or settling in for the night. Sara had been the one to talk to all of them. Helena had to admit, for a hardened assassin, she had a way of being persuasive without using force or intimidation; and the question of why they had broken into an electronics store and emptied the cash register was answered when Sara had given each person she spoke to a wad of bills.

However, none of the four they had found had the information they needed.

The fifth one, at the restaurant just a couple of miles away from the docks, did have something interesting to say.

Helena stood by the side and watched Sara go through the motions with the homeless woman they had come across; telling her not to be afraid, not approaching until the woman felt safe, giving her some money before asking the questions, then coaxing the answers out of her.

And at the end of it, what they knew was that there'd been a shift in the routine recently; the walks from the restaurant to the docks had grown more frequent, the shop had closed early twice in the past week, and there'd been a new kind of leftovers being dumped, which the woman didn't like. She didn't like the way if felt under her teeth, she said. Also, it had tentacles. She hadn't seen any in two days, though.

After Sara had given the woman the rest of the money and wished her well, she and Helena stepped to the side. "That bit about the new food caught your attention," she stated.

Helena nodded. "You saw their menu in the window," she said. "Seafood isn't on it. But my father," she added, "he likes seafood. Actually, his favorite is a calamari stew – hence the tentacles." Her lip curled. "He was here. He _ate_ here."

"Probably slept here, too," Sara supplied. "But, assuming that they were making the dish for him, he hasn't been around for two days." She glanced to the side then returned her eyes to Helena, and asked, "Do you know where...Johnny Sabatoni would be?"

"I know where he lives."

"Okay," Sara declared, already moving; Helena trotted along. "We'll need to circle back to that electronics store. Then we're going to Sabatoni's house."

* * *

"I can't believe you benched me," Helena muttered, from where she was crouching in the bushes behind the back fence of Sabatoni's mansion.

"_I couldn't take the risk of you losing it and killing him_," came Sara's dry reply in her ear; as it turned out, the purpose of their second electronics store break-in of night was to get a couple of bluetooth earpieces. And the purpose of said earpieces was to get Helena to crouch in untrimmed bushes while Sara sneaked into the mansion in search of Johnny Sabatoni. Apparently, she was worried about Helena's self-control – or lack thereof.

Helena had to say, she took offense in that.

But it was easier to swallow her pride than try and argue with an elite – and reformed, according to her – assassin.

So, she was crouching in the bushes while Sara scaled the fence, avoided the security, picked the back lock and made her way through the house in search of Sabatoni; it was sort of impressive, Helena was not above admitting.

"Anything?" she asked.

"_Staff seems to be sleeping_," came the hushed reply. "_But I see lights on the second floor._"

Sara moved so quietly, Helena couldn't even hear her breathing; the house was quiet, too. She couldn't hear any ambient noise, either.

She waited and waited, until finally, there was the softest creak of leather in her ear. And she could hear a muffled voice, as if it were coming from behind a door. In the quiet, it sounded as loud as if it were coming from right next to her.

"_Found him_," Sara whispered. "_He's on the phone with someone. Listen._"

Helena strained to make out the words, closing her eyes and regulating her breathing so as to put better focus on her hearing.

" – _telling you, Frank, she's here_," she heard the distorted words in her ear. "_My – saw her coming – _"

She found the urge to as much as clench her teeth; Sabatoni was talking to her father. About _her_. He knew she was in Edge City.

" – _we knew she would – Sal talked in Coast – _"

" – _got you out in time_ – "

" – _know when she leaves – get you back here then_ – "

That was the last she heard of it, and realized Sara was moving out. "Wait," she hissed, but got no answer. She growled in frustration, then rose to her feet; the rendezvous point was down the road, three houses away.

She waited in the dark for a few minutes before Sara appeared in sight; she really did blend in with the night, save for that mop of bleach-blonde hair she sported.

"Why the hell did you leave?" Helena demanded. "We barely got anything!"

"We got _enough_," Sara said, with an air of finality; it annoyed Helena. "We know your father was here," Sara went on, "and we know he'll be returning as soon as Sabatoni's eyes and ears in the streets tell him you've moved on – I'd say he'll probably have a few baits lying around, waiting to send you in the wrong direction."

"Which is why you should have waited until he mentioned the _right_ direction!"

"We don't need that information," Sara told her, like she was talking to some incompetent, hotheaded child. If she didn't need her, by God, she would –

"Instead of chasing after him," Sara went on, "we'll get him to come to us."

_Wait_ – oh, that sounded nice.

* * *

"So, what's the plan?"

Helena made to put her mask away, only to realize she didn't have anything to actually put in _on_ – with a sigh, she sat on the ground, arranging her crossbow and mask in a nearby pile. Sara, of course, remained standing.

"You heard Sabatoni," Sara said. "Your father will be circling back when he knows you've left Edge City – or _thinks_ you've left."

This was getting interesting. "As I assume I won't be going anywhere, how will we fool him?"

"I will need your clothes and mask – and another wig."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Sabatoni's men are obviously keeping an eye on the ways in and out of the city," Sara said, "which is how they know you're here. We didn't come in together, which works to our advantage – if I dress up as you and leave, then come back as myself, it will create the illusion that you're not around anymore." She smiled triumphantly. "And your father will walk right into your path."

That was – it was kind of ingenious, actually. Of course, there was no guarantee the Canary _would_ be flying back, and not just slip away. "Suppose I agree, how do I know you won't just disappear on me?"

Sara pursed her lips, and with a sigh, discarded her mask and wig. "You know who I am, Helena," she told her. "You know who my family is."

After some deliberation, Helena nodded; true, she did have some leverage – which she was fully prepared to put to good use if crossed. Not that she wouldn't use it anyway, but that was not the point.

"Okay," she agreed. "So, how will this go?"

"You usually stay a few days or a week in one place, right?" At Helena's nod, Sara added, "So, we'll wait a couple of days, and you can go after the red herrings Sabatoni has set for you, at which point I'll leave the city as you, and you will just sit tight. And after I get back, we just wait for your father to return."

Sounded like a plan. "So...we'll be here a while?"

Sara nodded. "We'll be here a while."


	6. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 6

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

_**I. The Hunter and the Prey**_

_Chapter Six_

The sun was blaring down on her, making red spots dance behind her closed eyelids.

Helena turned over to the other side, feeling the hard ground dig into her shoulder, and was met with the same problem; she sighed and rolled over to her back before opening her eyes. It was to the sight of the empty space where the church bell used to be – or at least, Helena presumed there used to be a bell.

What she could say with absolute certainty, though, was that there were no shutters here. No glass windows either, actually; just holes in the wall that let the sun right on in. But hey, Sara had wanted 'a good vantage point'.

"Morning."

Helena turned her head to the side, to find Sara sitting with her back against a support beam, a coffee cup in one hand and a sandwich in the other. So, the Canary bought breakfast, then.

Pushing herself off the ground, Helena worked the kinks in her neck before hopping to her feet. Sara nodded in the direction of a paper bag on the ground. "Didn't know your preferences," she said, "so you get a turkey club sandwich and black coffee – there's some sugar on the side, though."

As far as breakfast went, it was pretty luxurious compared to her recent standards. Deciding she didn't want to get on the ground again, Helena picked up the bag and opted to eat standing up; she reached inside and grabbed her cup, taking an appreciative whiff before bringing the rim to her lips. "I take it we didn't spend all the money on helpful informants last night, then?" she commented, to which Sara gave a faint smile. Helena took a moment to look her over; it was a little strange seeing her in street clothes. She looked – well, normal. Just your regular blonde.

"Speaking of informants," Sara said, "you'll need to make your own rounds tonight. You'll know where to look for the Sabatoni's men, right?"

Helena shrugged. "It's the Italian mob. You always start at the docks."

"Which is also where I'm pretty sure your father will be coming through."

"It's convenient." Helena smiled. "The river's right there for the body drop."

Sara kept quiet for a moment, seemingly considering something. Eventually, she asked, "You're really looking forward to it, aren't you? Killing your father?"

Was that some more moral judgment she was hearing? "It's all I look forward to these days," she said.

"Well, you'll get what you want soon enough," was Sara's response.

Helena tipped her head to the side. "Does your help always come with passive-aggressive lessons in morality or am I getting special treatment?"

"I told you, I'm not well-placed to give lessons in morality to anyone," Sara reminded. "But even though we're both killers," she added, "I still don't know what it's like to feel what you feel." Her eyes went to the cup in her hands, and more quietly, she said, "There's only ever been one man I wanted dead for having wronged _me_. Someone else killed him."

Curious development, Helena thought. Though she supposed it did make sense; if what she'd heard about the League of Assassins was true, and she believed it was, then its members were sent to kill whoever Ra's al Ghul told them to. It was never personal for them. For Sara. Not the way it was for her, with her father.

"Do you wish you'd killed him yourself?" Helena asked, idly wondering if this could be called bonding.

Sara raised her eyes away from the cup and to the side. Helena knew that look; haunted memories and all that. "I don't think it would have made that much of a difference," Sara eventually spoke. Helena gathered from her tone that she wanted to leave it at that. Which was fine by her.

For her, though, it would make all the difference in the world to get a chance to put her father down herself.

"So, I'm thinking I could go after Sabatoni's men tonight," she changed the subject. "And tomorrow night. You can pull your little bait-and-switch after that."

Sara nodded.

And then came the awkward silence.

Helena wasn't used to roommates these days – especially not vigilantes who called themselves after birds. Apparently, neither was Sara. So, they stood and sat there in silence – and they had nothing to fill it with.

When she could practically feel herself twitching from the discomfort, Helena prompted, "So, what do you usually do to pass the time 'til sundown?"

Sara looked about as uncomfortable as she felt, and Helena thought there was some solace in that.

"Usually, I just – train, I suppose," the other woman said. "Sometimes, I go to an actual gym – mostly to use the shower."

Helena couldn't help but crack a small smile at that. "Interesting," she remarked. "I usually break into empty houses for my showers."

Sara looked like she was about to smile, then realized it hadn't been a joke; she raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you're serious."

"I like to take my time with a good bath."

There was a beat where it looked like Sara might laugh, but it soon passed and she merely nodded. "Well, I think I will go for my shower now," she announced, rising to her feet in one swift motion. She shoved a baseball cap on her head – a Rockets' one, Helena noted – and slung one of her smaller duffel bags over her shoulder. "See you later."

And with that she was out – through the hole in the wall that might pass as a window. Because stairs and doors were obviously for crazy people.

Helena rolled her eyes to herself, casting a look around the place as she finished her sandwich. Maybe she could make a little daytime run to the town, too.

* * *

"Should I have left you an allowance?"

The question came as just her arrow pierced the makeshift target she'd set for herself, and Helena didn't even bother looking up from reloading her crossbow to answer Sara's question.

"I can rob a store just fine," she declared. "Even in daylight."

"And you did it to...steal drapes?"

Helena did look up at that, to the soft, shimmy fabric she had set over the – well, holes in the walls. She shrugged. "I like purple," she said, letting her eyes linger on the play of light against the material; the bright spots where the sun hit, and the darker shades on the outlines.

She brought her eyes to Sara as she added, "And I _don't_ particularly like waking up to the sun blaring down on my face."

Sara pursed her lips, then just shook her head. She discarded her bag and cap, tossing them aside, and seemed to have every intention of just going about her business until Helena fired again; the hiss of the flying arrow made her whip her head around. "Do you have another one of those?" she asked, her eyes flickering towards the crossbow.

Helena raised an eyebrow. "In my bag," she informed and when Sara went to retrieve the spare crossbow, commented, "I thought your thing was that multifunction bo-staff you carry around."

"I'm versatile," Sara responded – a little cheekily, Helena thought. The other woman came to stand at her side, shifting her stance to take her aim; Helena noted that it was not exactly perfect.

"Not too used to a crossbow, though," Sara added as she pressed the trigger, hitting to the right of the target's center. "I'm better with just a bow and arrow."

Helena could practically taste the bitterness on her tongue. "He roped _you_ into it, too?"

Sara kept her eyes on the target for a moment longer, then looked sideways; Helena frowned at the slight smirk on her face. "I didn't get it from him," she said, but even as she spoke the words, her smirk slipped, and her tone grew softer – more intimate. She faced away again.

Helena dropped her own gaze to the ground before focusing it forward, too. "That guy in Coast City," she spoke, "there's a good reason why he called you 'beloved', isn't there?"

Her answer was the release of another arrow.

With a cluck of her tongue, Helena remarked, "The daughter of Ra's al Ghul is an archer, too, then?"

She almost expected not to receive an answer, when Sara said, "Yes, she is."

So, the daughter of Ra's al Ghul called the Yellow Bird her beloved; it was a good thing to know, Helena supposed. "That guy also said she's waiting for you."

"Yes, she is," Sara repeated, then met Helena's eyes. "But I'm not going back." With a quiet sigh, she added, "I don't regret running away, but if there's one thing I could miss, it'd be her."

"Well, you should think it through better," Helena advised, taking her own shot and hitting dead center. "Losing someone you love makes you..._vengeful_." And somehow, she doubted the daughter of Ra's al Ghul would take kindly to being left behind.

"I know," Sara said simply, and reloaded her crossbow.

* * *

This was no fun.

These men didn't have any information for her, nothing she wanted from them; as she took them out one by one from her vantage point atop one of the shipping containers by the docks, Helena felt more like an executioner than a huntress. _No_, she decided. _No fun at all_.

Once the deed was done, she headed for the club she'd heard of from her father; he always talked about it after his trips to Edge City. Sabatoni's men were there in clusters. Maybe she'd engage them in a fight; at least then she would get _some_ fun out of this whole deal.

Thinking on it, she decided that Johnny Sabatoni _had_ probably promised his men a fight – oh, he'd warned them of the danger for sure, and they probably knew already, but they'd probably also been under the impression there was a chance for them to take her down. _Fools_.

She did take her time at the club, after having spotted the particular group of planted possible informants waiting for her; she fought them, let them think they'd gotten the upper hand at one point, too – if only to spice things up a little. In the end, she put them down, too.

Back in the bell tower, she found that Sara had already returned from her own stroll through the streets; it had been her idea to take the spare crossbow tonight, to further the illusion that the Huntress was truly the only one in town. After some internal debate, Helena had allowed it.

The crossbow lay discarded now, as Sara was it the process of beating one of the steel grids with her batons. The impact of metal against metal echoed in the tower.

It clanged and clanged and clanged, and it hurt Helena's head.

"Would you quit that?" she snapped, after having discarded her own garb. Shacking up with the Canary was one thing; listening to her drill holes in her skull with her 'training' was another one entirely.

It took a moment for the noise to stop, as Sara lowered her weapons. "Only if you are willing to offer a better challenge," she retorted.

Helena raised an eyebrow, then grinned. Now _this_ should be fun.


	7. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 7

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Seven_

Sara revved the engine, spurring the bike into movement.

It had taken some adjustment to feel at ease in this new disguise. The wig was longer and smoother than she was used to, and it had been a solid hour until she had stopped tensing at the sight of brown strands instead of blonde ones in her peripheral vision. The long leather coat had hindered her movements until she had figured out how to use the long slits up the sides to her advantage; its sleeves were also a little too long for her liking. At least she got to keep her own mask.

But bar those few hitches, she was now successfully impersonating the Huntress.

Speeding down one of the more secluded roads out of the city, Sara counted at least three nondescript cars parked by the side; at least one of them belonged to Sabatoni's men. She knew they'd seen her leave. Now, it was only a matter of time before they reported their observation, and Frank Bertinelli was given the green light to circle back to Edge City.

Sara kept her pace long after she had gone out of sight; once far enough out, she would trade Helena's clothes for her own, ditch the bike, and return to the city as the Canary, using a different way in. Then, they would wait. It was a simple enough plan.

Sara had no doubt Frank Bertinelli would be dead by the next week's end.

She wasn't quite so sure what would come after, though.

Even though she liked to believe Helena would join her in the aftermath, there was also every chance she would turn on her to seek her revenge on the Arrow. She would go after her family in Starling – or her mother in Coast City. She was sure it wouldn't take the Huntress too long to realize it was Dinah Lance she had gone to see there. And if she did choose to be her enemy – well, Sara would have deal with her as she had with the others who had threatened her family. She would very much dislike it, but protecting her family came first, no matter the circumstances.

Still, she liked to think Helena was growing fond of her, too.

* * *

She'd never found the quiet to be so disconcerting before.

Helena usually liked her solitude – preferred it, even – but now, it was making her fidget. The unpleasant weight was set low in her gut, and the unease crawled up her skin no matter how much she tried to shake it.

Seeing Sara don her wear had been – well, she had felt the experience on a deeper level than she thought she would. The fit hadn't been quite right, of course, and the other woman moved differently, but she had still, for all intents and purposes, been _her_. It was as if she had stolen her skin and put it on; it made Helena feel exposed, raw, in a way that she hadn't anticipated.

And then with that, she was meant to just let the Canary leave – wearing her clothes, being her – and trust she would return; her palms still bore marks from where her hands had balled into fists, and her nails had dug into the flesh.

_I'll be back_, Sara had promised, in a tone that made Helena believe she had sensed her discomfort; it had been a soft yet firm promise. A _soothing_ one. Which only made Helena feel more exposed – more vulnerable. She didn't like the feeling.

So, here she was, pacing the length of the empty old bell tower, waiting. Just _waiting_.

It didn't sit well with her.

Still, if this was the price she had to pay to get what she wanted, she supposed she would just have to endure the confinement for a couple of days. Unless Sara had decided to cross her – and in that case, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

Helena was down to counting the minutes. Sixty seconds for each pull of her finger against the trigger of her crossbow; she'd considered switching to her guns, but that was bound to cause a lot of noise.

The sun had gone up then down, then up again, and Helena had waited and waited, and waited. Now, the sun was going down once more, and the Canary had still not returned. Though it was entirely within the timeframe they had set, the longer her absence persisted, the more restless Helena grew.

She fired and reloaded, fired and reloaded, and when a thud sounded at her right, her aim changed directions; the arrow barely missed Sara's head.

"I expected a warmer welcome," the other women deadpanned, from where she was pushing the drapes out of her way with one hand and holding onto the ledge with the other, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

If the sight of her return made her own shoulders release their tension, Helena didn't dwell on the fact. Her eyes tracked Sara as she hopped inside, now dressed as her own persona. "Welcome back," she quipped, and Sara's mask did little to hide her annoyance at the sarcastic edge; Helena took pleasure in that.

"They took the bait," Sara announced. "Everything went the way we wanted it to."

Now, those were some good news, Helena thought as a smile began creeping at the corners of her mouth; her hunt would be over soon.

It was time to wait again after Sara's return, though it weighed less on Helena this time. As the days ticked by, her skin did begin to crawl again, but with anticipation; every minute that went by brought her one step closer to putting her father down.

She and Sara did another sweep of Sabatoni's home, to confirm the date of her father's arrival to the city; Helena had no problems waiting for Sara in the bushes this time around. They still had some days to kill before the _real_ kill could occur, though, and Helena took advantage of that.

Sara sparred with her for hours, and whatever else Helena thought of her, she knew how to fight; she'd learned from Sara in those few hours, and even she had to admit that there was still a lot that she _could_ teach her, given time. Sara fought with precision, a pinpoint accuracy that was still not devoid of style; for each sharp blow of her staff, there was an exhibition twirl that followed, and for every kick or punch, there was a spin which made her hair whip about her face – and that, Helena thought, was something worth learning.

Lessons aside, Helena also thought this was a time for celebration – an idea that obviously hadn't occurred to Sara, because when she returned from her run on the town their fourth night of waiting, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Helena nursing a tall cup of schnapps.

Helena raised the plastic cup in greeting.

"Party of one?" Sara inquired as she discarded her mask and wig.

"So far," Helena said. "Unless you wanna join."

It _was_ a celebration. But, Helena had also learned, the best secrets were always revealed over a drink.

And obviously, Sara knew that; her eyes were wary and cautious as she considered the offer, and Helena appreciated that she wasn't playing with a fool. When Sara didn't move, she shrugged. "Suit yourself," she told her before refilling her cup to the brim.

The seconds ticked by, but eventually, Helena felt Sara's presence closer to her; she smiled into her drink.

"Isn't it a little early for a victory drink?" Sara asked even as she lowered herself to the ground a poured herself a cup. "You haven't gotten what you want yet."

"I'm feeling optimistic." Helena raised her own cup. "Cheers."

Sara indulged her and bumped their cups, before shaking her head. "Schnapps out of plastic cups," she commented. "Reminds me of college."

"You went to college?"

That little remark earned her an unimpressed look. "Before I went on the Gambit with Ollie," Sara told her, "I was at SCU. I was going to major in economics." Her eyes dropped to the liquor in her hands, and she took a long swig.

"Instead you majored in assassinations," Helena commented. "Well, things rarely go the way you thought they would."

Sara's eyes rose at that, carrying a slight glint of curiosity; Helena decided to indulge it. "You know, before...becoming the 'Huntress'," she began, "I was this...mob princess. And I had a _fiancé_ – Michael. And back then, I thought we'd...get married, eventually, and we would...go away somewhere – away from my father, just the two of us." She watched the alcohol ripple over her reflection as she twirled her cup, distorting it; that was how it felt to remember that past now, too. All these memories – of her, of Michael, of her father – distorted by the looking glass. They barely felt like they were her own anymore.

"That was how I thought things would go," she went on. "But before that, I wanted to lock my father away – he was always a monster, and I wanted...I wanted to put him away before Michael and I began our lives together. And I started working with the FBI, gathering evidence against my father – Michael didn't know about it, it was just me." She swallowed past the lump in her throat, then added, "I had all my evidence on a laptop, and my father found it, thought it was Michael's. So, he had him killed." She looked up at Sara. "And that's when I decided that if I wanted justice, I had to get it myself."

There was a long pause before Sara responded. "Well," she said, "I've seen far worse causes than yours."

"Like _yours_?" Helena tossed back, taking another sip of her drink.

Sara nodded. "It wasn't really my cause," she spoke, "but I took part in it, so I guess that makes it mine, in a way." She took a moment to tip her cup back for a long gulp, then added, "But not anymore."

"So, what's your new cause? A one-woman mission to dismantle misogyny?"

That earned her a raise of an eyebrow. "That wasn't my intention when I came back, you know," she informed. "I came back to check on my family – after the quake." She shrugged. "To make sure they were safe."

Helena frowned. "And they are, I'd imagine," she said. "So, that's not why you stayed."

"Now that I'm home, I can't give it up again."

"But you're not really home, are you?" Helena countered. "You're jumping from one city to the other, in a mask and a wig to hide yourself – you're not home."

Sara shrugged. "Still beats the place I called home before."

"And your – let's call it a 'vigilante gig'?"

Another shrug. "I'm not used to being idle," Sara told her. "While I was with the League, anytime I wasn't on the move, it was just a respite in between kills. And even before that , I – I don't remember the last time I could _allow_ myself to be idle. So, when I came back to Starling and made sure my family was safe, I didn't...really know what to do with myself in all the downtime. So, I...just went through the streets."

Helena's head tipped to the side. "And you just – what? Flipped a coin for a tagline? Was 'bring down the patriarchy' heads or tails?"

There was a fleeing quirk of Sara's lips, before she grew serious. "No woman should ever suffer at the hands of men," she almost whispered, in a way that made Helena believe it was something of a mantra. It held a lot of meaning, too, that much was clear, even through the slight alcohol-induced haze that was starting to fog her brain.

There were many ways in which a woman could suffer at a man's hand – violence, bruises that you could see and those you could not, being treated as lesser, being used. And _that_ was something Helena could understand.

"Well, I've seen far worse causes," she echoed Sara's words, and this time, it did bring a smile out of the other woman.

As Sara reached to refill her cup, she asked, "So, is that the one you're sticking with? Being a...vigilante on the run?"

Sara seemed to consider it for a while, sipping on her drink every now and then. Eventually, she said, "I don't know. It...feels good. Being a..._vigilante_." She shook her head. "You know I worked with Oliver," she added, more quietly, "and whatever you think of _him_, his team – they're good. In the little time I spent with them, I realized that...I'd like to have what they do."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you want me to come with you to – wherever it is that you're going?"

Sara swayed from one side to the other as she shrugged. "Maybe," she said cheerily, and after a moment, Helena had to laugh; drinks had _definitely_ been a good idea.

Sara was chuckling along – well, more like smiling, with the tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth, her eyes crinkling at the corners and her dimples creasing her cheeks.

And just for a moment, Helena thought she might have grown fond of Sara, too.


	8. I The Hunter and the Prey - Ch 8

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_I. The Hunter and the Prey_**

_Chapter Eight_

It was time.

Frank Bertinelli was coming back into town, by boat; he was expected by the river docks. And from their vantage point, Helena and Sara had the perfect view of his arrival.

Helena didn't let her eyes stray once, only blinking when it would become more of a nuisance than an advantage to keep her eyes open. She was waiting again, but now, she was nearly at the finish line; she practically taste the victory on her tongue.

Sara had told her – warned her, really – not to get comfortable until it was done. Getting comfortable was a rookie mistake; Helena had humored her by nodding.

There was a cluster of men waiting down below, too, and one of them was Johnny Sabatoni; of course he would welcome his old friend back. Well, he could die right along with him, too.

The night was quiet, as were the men, until the loud buzz of a speedboat disturbed that setting; Helena licked her lips in anticipation.

The roaring of the engine came and went, and soon, three men were exiting the boat; two enforcers and, right at their heels, the man of the hour. _Hello, father dear_, Helena thought, and adjusted her aim. And from beside her, so did Sara. Helena had lent her the spare crossbow again, so as to take the men out quickly and efficiently – well, all but _one_. Her father, after all, deserved a face-to-face.

"Now," she whispered, releasing her first arrow. Two men went down the next moment, and Helena had to admit, Sara's aim with a crossbow had improved – she'd still missed the heart, but well, the shot had done the job.

There was commotion now, as the men scrambled for their guns – but they were too slow, and they were at a disadvantage. Before their brains could catch up with what they were seeing, Helena had already reloaded and pulled the trigger again; so had Sara.

One by one they went, and Helena felt the mad urge to laugh at how they all crumbled to the ground, like puppets whose stings had suddenly been cut.

And then, there was one.

He broke off into a run, as Helena expected he would. _Run, coward, run._

She turned to Sara for the briefest second, waiting for her to nod; when she did, they both bounded from their crouched positions and to their feet; Sara broke off into a run, following the line of low buildings in parallel to her father's trail. Helena, for her part, jumped off the edge, scraping the length of her arm as she rolled into a landing; she took a moment to keep to the ground, just watching her father's retreating back. She grinned as she broke off into a run of her own.

And for an aging sack of bones, her father certainly ran fast.

From the corner of her eye, she tracked Sara as she ran along the skyline, bounding across the gaps between the buildings. Helena had to admit; the Canary knew how to fly.

She was closing the distance that separated her from her prey, before he suddenly skidded to a halt; Sara rose from where she had landed before him, wielding her staff. He scrambled and turned to run away, then froze again. Helena smirked at him, raising her crossbow.

There was a gun pointed at her the next moment; she shot it out of his hand. "Not this time, father," she told him.

And then he just stood there, a caged rat with nowhere to run anymore; Helena wanted to savor that feeling.

"You little – " Whatever insult he wanted to throw her way was lost in a grunt, as Sara's staff connected with the back of his knees; she forced him to the ground the next moment. Then, she backed away, and nodded. "I'll leave you to it," she said, stepping backwards until she went out of sight.

As she retreated, Helena approached. Her father was right where she had wanted him for a long, long time; on his knees before her.

And she'd debated for a long, long time, too, how she wanted to put an end to him – a bullet to the head as Michael's fiancée, to end him the same way he had ended her love, or an arrow to the heart as the Huntress? Even as she had chased him moments earlier, she still hadn't known.

But now, as he panted at her feet, looking at her like she was the devil – like _she _was the monster here – she realized she hadn't been Michael's Helena in a really long while; and the justice she sought had changed, too. But either way, she wanted the scoundrel at her feet dead.

Still, for a moment, her hold on the crossbow faltered; this was all she had lived for, for a couple of years now. Just for a split-second, she thought about letting him get away – just not to let her hunt end. Once he was dead, it would be done – Michael would be avenged. Her father would have paid for his sins. And she –

_When your purpose is over, what will you be then?_

Helena raised her chin.

She was the Huntress.

"Well, get it over with, then," her father spat.

With a smile, she pointed her arrow at his chest. "Oh, I will," she said, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

The river still stank of sewage and dead bodies – and she had been the one to put the latest one in there.

Helena stood watching over the dark water, even after the shape that was her father's corpse had floated out of sight.

It was done. She had what she had come for. He was dead.

She closed her eyes, letting the stench fill her nose; it smelled of victory.

The soft sound of footfalls approaching her didn't faze her; she appreciated that Sara had given her privacy for this moment – that she had understood why she needed it.

"So," Sara spoke, "does it feel as good as you thought it would?"

Helena opened her eyes slowly, taking one long, deep breath of the smell in the air. "_Better_."

With a slight smile, she turned to Sara. "Thank you," she said. "For honoring our deal."

Sara nodded. "A deal's a deal," she dismissed the gratitude. She was quiet then, letting her eyes scan the river. "What now?" she asked after a moment. "Will you come with me? Or will you go after Oliver next?"

The funny thing was, just yesterday, she would have agreed to the former as means to get the latter; now, the desire to retaliate against the Hood – the _Arrow _– didn't burn so hot. In a way, Helena felt sated. "You know, you were right," she told Sara. "Now that my father is dead, I need something to fall back on – I _want _it. My father has paid his debt, and I've put Michael to rest. For good." She took a deep breath. "And," she added, "as much as it pains me to say it, I _have _grown fond of you, too."

Sara chuckled faintly next to her. "That's nice to hear," she said softly. "But if this is going where I think it is, I will ask you to leave Oliver be. You don't have to forgive him, but whatever he did to you, he is also my friend – and if you side with _me_, you can't go against _him_."

Helena had expected that clause; she nodded. "I was actually going to take you up on your offer, then do it anyway," she admitted, then cast the other woman a sidelong glance. "But I think you already knew that." Sara's expression was all the affirmative answer she needed.

"But you've changed your mind?"

Helena sighed. "I guess so," she said. "Turns out, I got all the revenge I needed." She shrugged. "It's time for something new." And there was better prey out there for a Huntress than Oliver Queen.

Sara hummed, and Helena caught sight of her turning towards her out of the corner of her; she matched her stance to face her.

"So, you'll come with me?" Sara asked.

Helena smiled down at Sara's proffered hand, and shook it.

* * *

Next Installment: **_The Coveted_**


	9. II The Coveted - Ch 1

_A/N: So, this is where the Starling shenanigans start. I hope you will enjoy that. _

_Also, this series is canon-compliant up until 2x05, so while I do sample canon elements from later episodes, I also take quite a few liberties. All canon divergences should be made pretty clear, though. There is also a lot of info being dropped in this chapter, most of which is set-up, and I plan on following through on all of it as the series goes on. _

_That said, carry on please. _

* * *

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_II. The Coveted_**

_Chapter One_

She'd thought nothing could possibly top the Undertaking.

Turns out, she was wrong.

The thing was, they hadn't seen it coming – none of it. One day, they were just doing their thing, she was hacking video feeds, Oliver was sharpening arrows in-between nursing a semi-functional teacher-pupil relationship with Roy while never taking off his hood, and Diggle was mostly just despairing over it all – and then, next thing they knew, all hell was breaking loose.

Another thing Felicity had learned – if Oliver thought people were dead, there was every chance they were actually alive and kicking.

First, the Dark Archer had risen from the shadows. And he was crazier than ever. He'd gone after Thea – who, as it happened, was his daughter. Not that that had been a surprise for the team when Malcolm Merlyn had dropped back onto the map, though it had been a shocker when it was first uncovered – it had been a surprise for Thea, though. Big, huge, crippling surprise.

And while Oliver was challenging the Dark Archer for a rematch, they'd been blindsided by another ghost from his past.

Felicity had first heard the name Slade Wilson in a throwaway line about the island from Oliver – just an innocuous slip of his tongue that he immediately looked like he wanted to take back. Well, in front of her, anyway – she knew he'd shared some of it with Diggle. But she had known one thing: Slade Wilson was _dead_.

Recently, however, she had learned that he was _not_ dead, had an affinity for swords and a two-faced mask, as well as an unquenchable desire to get revenge on Oliver. Now, the reasons behind his hatred – _those_ had been unexpected. While she'd been on her knees and with her hands behind her back on the cold QC floor, she'd heard more about the island from Slade Wilson than she ever had from Oliver himself; Shado and Sara, and one Dr. Anthony Ivo, and a fateful bullet to the head, directed by an even more fateful choice on Oliver's part – or so Slade had said. Then, there was the story behind the eye-patch – well, he hadn't actually _told_ her that one per se. She had just connected the dots. She'd been on Lian Yu; she'd seen the mask on the beach. The mask like the one Slade wore; the mask with an arrow driven through its eye. So, no, Slade hadn't told her about that one; she'd just figured it out. She'd heard everything else from him, though.

And she hadn't been the only one.

Laurel Lance had heard it all, too, from where she was right next to Felicity on the cold ground – and that particular staging, Felicity had learned, was a form of callback to island happenings; Slade had wanted Oliver to make a choice this time, too.

Things hadn't exactly gone according to _that_ plan. Oliver had shown up, of course, no hood and no mask – and Felicity personally considered it a silver lining that his second identity had been kept under wraps from Laurel; it was probably an incredible stroke of luck that Slade hadn't had the chance to tell _that_ tale as well.

She and Laurel, however, had been waiting for their stroke of death.

Felicity hadn't doubted for a second that Slade would kill them both, once the curtain closed on his little play. It was about suffering, and mind games, and guilt – payback for what he called Oliver's sins.

It all became somewhat of a blur at one point, actually. She remembered the voices; Slade's angry, taunting one, and Oliver's loud shouting followed by his quieter attempts at reasoning. She remembered how they had made her head pound along with the rush of blood in her ears; she couldn't remember the words, though. And she remembered hearing Laurel grit her teeth and growl, she remembered her muttering, too; she remembered seeing her close her eyes and shake from anger, and she remembered wanting to ask her if she was okay. She didn't know what she remembered after that.

Next thing she knew, Laurel's was screaming off the top of her lungs; a deep, drawn-out scream that had scrambled Felicity's mind. It had _hurt_ to hear the scream.

She knew she had toppled over, away from the pain the scream made her feel, and she knew she had heard glass shattering all around her. She'd been told more about what had happened later than she actually remembered – all that she really did remember was the throbbing in her head.

Oliver had jumped at Slade, and there was some struggle, and then they had both gone out the window. Oliver had climbed back, and Felicity knew he had cut his palms open on the ledge because she had bloody streaks on her cheeks afterwards. And after it was all said and done, Slade was nowhere to be found, dead or alive.

Laurel didn't speak to Oliver. She didn't speak to anyone, actually.

Thea wasn't speaking to him, either. Or to their mother. Not after learning what they'd kept from her. But the return of the Dark Archer had been, in a way, anticlimactic. Though that hadn't made it any less bloody. He'd made his presence known again, taken Thea, but when Oliver had come for him, bow at the ready, he'd run away. Just gone as quickly as he'd come. No one knew why. And while Oliver had searched then waited, a two-block radius of the Glades had gone up in flames, raising Malcolm Merlyn's body count to five hundred and seventy. They hadn't seen that coming either. And much like Slade Wilson, Malcolm Merlyn was nowhere to be found now.

So, Felicity concluded, all in all, things were _bad_.

Just like they had been after the quake, even if it was in another way. Things were different now, though. She, Digg and Oliver were a team now, an actual team – with Roy as an honorary member who was kept in the dark about most things and Sara as the wandering trooper they knew they could call. So yes, they were a team now and things were different, and the aftermath would not be as the last one. Oliver would stay and they would find a way to fix this mess. Like a team.

Which was why she was blindsided when he stepped up to her and Diggle in the basement, and announced he was leaving.

"What do you mean, you're _leaving_?" she let out, blinking at his stoic, blank face.

"I'm going back to Lian Yu," he said. "I never should have left in the first place."

Her head whipped toward Diggle; his expression didn't show much, though there was some disappointment there. But no surprise.

Felicity, for her part, was definitely surprised. "Wh – I don't...I don't understand," was all she could think of saying.

Oliver didn't meet her eyes as he said, "I failed – again. The only reason you and Laurel were in danger was because of me, because Slade wanted to get back at _me_, and – " He sighed. "And he's still out there, but if I'm not here, there's no reason for him to go after anyone I care about – there's no point if I'm not here to see it." After licking his lips, he added, "I failed to kill him, just like I failed to kill Malcolm, and he beat me – _again_. He didn't even have to _try _this time. I'm no good against him. I'm no good for the city either. I should never have come back."

"You – you can't be serious." She huffed. "We've spent months helping the city – "

"And we have nothing to show for it," he cut in, sharply. "Every time we take one bad guy down, ten more pop up. Malcolm killed more people again, and we couldn't stop him. We couldn't even see him coming – or Slade. This was a fool's crusade, just like the last one."

"But – what about your family? And the city? They need you. _We_ – " she gestured between herself and Diggle - "need you."

He shook and ducked his head, like he was trying to shake her words off. "My sister isn't speaking to me," he whispered. "And my mother – well, we haven't been on the best of terms. And the city – " His expression hardened. "Nothing I do makes much of a difference – if anything, I make it worse. I bring psychopaths and destruction wherever I go, and I did this time, too – "

"Merlyn isn't your fault – "

"I failed to kill him!" he raised his voice. "I tried, and I failed, and he came back! Just like the Count, like Helena – like Slade." He shook his head. "The city's better off without me."

Felicity gulped, hating how small her voice sounded as she asked, "And what about us?"

He looked up just for a split second, and that was the only showcase of how deeply his regret ran she got.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice low and thick.

Well.

So much for things being different.

"Come on, man, don't do this," Diggle said quietly.

Felicity watched him and Oliver stare at each other for a long time, but in the end, she knew Oliver's will would win out. Some things never changed.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," was Oliver's response.

Well, at least they'd gotten _that_.

It was weird, actually; it didn't feel like much of a goodbye at all. "So, you're done?" she asked.

He nodded, and she could have rolled her eyes at how solemn he made it look. "I'm done."

"Then so am I," she concluded. "I'm not going halfway across the world to drag you back again. And when you decide you want to pick up where you left off, I won't be here for the ride. I'm out."

"I won't come back, Felicity."

"Yeah, you will," she said. It could be a year or a decade, but he'd find a reason to come back. Because some things never changed. "But I won't be here when you do."

She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Safe travels," she told him before making her way out, her heels clacking loudly in the ensuing silence. She knew there would be more words exchanged between him and Diggle, but she had no desire to linger behind and hear the conversation.

He was running away again. And she knew better than to chase after him this time.

* * *

The transition was almost seamless this time.

Mrs. Queen took over as CEO at Queen Consolidated. Isabel Rochev now enjoyed a new partner to have stare-off with. And Felicity had gotten her old job back in IT. She didn't know if she wanted to stay there anymore, but something had to pay her bills until she figured it out.

Diggle had been the one to inform Roy that there would be no more crime-fighting for them, using the voice-distorter to impersonate the Arrow.

Laurel was on a paid leave of absence at the DA's office.

The basement was locked and empty.

And Felicity –

Well, she was mostly going through the motions. She felt like it hadn't hit her yet, the whole weight of the situation. Like the few seconds of dead quiet after an impact. A train going off its rails and hitting a wall of stone before going up in flames; and those few seconds in-between were dead quiet. She felt like she was trapped in that stillness, too, suspended in mid-air before things started moving again. It would probably be ugly when they did.

The city felt like it had been suspended in motion, too. At least for a couple of days. Then, it had exploded. Malcolm Merlyn was alive. He'd killed again – targeted the Glades again. Alderman Blood was gaining traction by the minute. _Again – _and Felicity still believed there was something terribly off about him, even more so now. She didn't know why, but he seemed even more..._invested_ this time. In a way that made her very uncomfortable.

But she wasn't scrambling to put the basement back together now. And she wasn't making longterm plans for the rehabilitation of Team Arrow. The Arrow, in his own words, was done, and so was she.

So much for being heroes.

It wasn't that she didn't understand that he carried the guilt of everything that ever went wrong on his shoulders. Or that he would be the last person to have faith in himself. _Or_ that he thought that, in end, everyone was just better off without him. But if all the road they'd covered since she and Diggle had dragged him back from Purgatory hadn't changed his mind on the matter, then there was nothing she could do about it.

And there was nothing she could about Team Arrow, either. It was officially dismantled. She and Diggle couldn't do it on their own. They'd tried what they could, the last time, but there was always the ever-present knowledge that they needed Oliver to make it work. They needed his skill-set. They needed him. Diggle was good, but he couldn't do what Oliver could. She was not fieldwork material. And Roy –

Roy was partially trained at best, and all that Diggle could teach him would never be enough to make him into the kind of crusader Oliver was. Besides, Felicity doubted Roy would be very enthusiastic to try, even if they gave it a shot – he felt betrayed, too. And Sara was running with the League of Assassins at her heels.

So, no more Team Arrow.

And with that, Felicity expected she would settle into the same sort of routine she'd had before all of it. Well, it wouldn't be the _same_ – it couldn't. Just the same _kind_.

What she had not expected, though, was to feel a hand cover her mouth as she walked to her car after work a week after Oliver had left, and a sharp smell to fill her nostrils as she lost consciousness.

* * *

It took her a while to open her eyes.

Her head felt too heavy for her shoulders, every last one of her muscles felt too stiff, and each breath she pulled felt like it was burning her throat and nose.

Felicity blinked through the fog, screwing her eyes shut then opening them, trying to focus her sight. Then, she realized it would stay unfocused no matter how hard she tried, because her glasses were missing. She could feel hard concrete beneath her, though, as well as recognize its bleak color stretch out around her; it wasn't the same as the one in the QC's parking lot, however.

A flash of hair swam into her field of vision next – of _white_ hair.

_Uh-oh_, was the best her muddled brain could come up with.

"Hello."

How did one respond to a greeting by a high-ranking member of the Chinese mafia they called China White, and who was supposed to be under lock and key at Iron Heights and had evidently taken you hostage?

Where did the rules of appropriate social conduct stand on this?

China White crouched in front of her, and Felicity backed away on instinct; the pain that shot through her head the next moment let her know she'd hit it against the wall.

"Easy," the other woman told her. She opened the palm of her hand next, holding what Felicity vaguely recognized as her glasses. Her own hand came up to grab them, only for her to let out a yelp when it was yanked back, along with the sound of rattling metal; she was handcuffed.

Her left hand had been left free, though. So, she raised that one, feeling it starting to shake. It took longer than it should have to retrieve her glasses and slip them on, but eventually, the world around her sharpened again, and she was met with China White's dark eyes. She gulped.

"Wh – what do you want with me?" she asked, hating that her voice wavered as she did so.

The other woman shrugged. "You're our guest."

Felicity chanced a look at her surroundings, finding there to be at least five men with them in the – was it a basement? No, there was light streaming though the windows. A warehouse, maybe?

"That's funny," she commented. "I don't usually kidnap and handcuff my guests."

The realization that her mouth had gotten the better of her brain – _again_ – came a moment too late, but China White only smirked.

"The accommodations are temporary," she said. "Until the Arrow responds to my invitation."

Felicity stilled, feeling a heavy weight settle in her gut. "W-what?" she squeaked out.

The white-haired woman rose to her feet. "The Arrow and I have a lot of unfinished business," she said. "I want to settle our score once and for all. And _you_ – " her smirk grew wider – "are what's going to make him come to me."

The weight was turning into a churning now, gnawing at her insides. "I – I don't, he – he's – I don't have anything to – to d-do with – "

"Don't bother," China White interrupted her. "I _know_ he values you – your life, at least. He killed the Count for you. And I _know_ you were questioned by Quentin Lance about the work you'd done _for_ him." She shrugged. "Lance and the city may have forgotten about it, what with the quake and all, but my sources at the PD remember. You work with him," she stated. "He'll come for you. And when he does..."

Although she didn't voice the rest of her plan, reading between the lines was easy enough.

There was, however, a significant fault in her plan, even if she might be unaware of it. The Arrow wouldn't get to read her 'invitation', much less respond to it.

_He's not coming._


	10. II The Coveted - Ch 2

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

_**II. The Coveted**_

_Chapter Two_

Felicity had weighed her options – through the frantic pounding of her heart and the fear that was scrambling her thought process. She could push the idea that she wasn't involved with the Arrow, that the Triad had gotten it wrong; that would probably be for nothing, though. She doubted she could persuade China White of it under the best of circumstances. And if she did – well, that would only speed up the process on the bullet with her name on it being fired.

She could tell the truth, that the Arrow was gone. Packed his bags and left.

But it didn't take a genius to figure out it would follow the same pattern as the first option. They wouldn't believe her, they'd think she was protecting him. And if they did believe her, then she was useless anyway. _And then comes the bullet to the head_.

The thing was, she was pretty sure a bullet to the head was in the books anyway. They only counted on Oliver receiving one, too.

The way she saw it, Diggle was her only hope now. The clock was ticking, though. According to China White, she had two days.

* * *

**_Buenos Aires, Argentina_**

**_One week earlier_**

"You're kidding me, right?"

Sara sighed at Helena's tone, even as she stuffed more clothes into her bag. "I have to go back, Helena," she said, a little impatiently. It was going to take longer than she would have liked to get from this seedy motel they were in to Starling anyway, and she didn't have any time to lose.

Felicity had sent out a message, through the various anonymous channels she had set up herself for communication. They'd never used them before, so when the message came, Sara had known it was urgent even before reading its contents. _We need you_, it said, followed by a succinct account of things that had happened. It was all Sara needed to hear to start packing.

Helena, however, was having trouble accepting it. "Why?" she let out.

Sara threw her batons on the bed, whirling on her companion. "Felicity sent me an S.O.S.," she said. "Things are _bad_. And my sister was nearly _killed_."

"But she clearly _wasn't_, and your little troopers can clean up their messes," Helena fired back. "You said you couldn't go back to Starling – you said you _wouldn't_!"

Sara took a moment to draw a deep breath before saying, "I _have_ to."

Helena looked away, then quietly hissed, "And what about me?" She stepped up to her, anger flashing in her eyes. "We've crossed half the continent together, but now you're just going to ditch me because _Felicity_ sent out an S.O.S.?" She shook her head. "I should have known."

Sara frowned. "I want you to come with me, Helena," she said. It hadn't crossed her mind that she would think she wasn't wanted for the ride.

But if she thought that would ease Helena's mind, she was wrong. In fact, it only made her angrier.

"You're _serious_?" she raised her voice. "You want _me_ to go back to Starling? I should just – what? Walk right into the lion's den and trust your little friends won't open fire?"

Sara hung her head. She did understand Helena's reticence; her friends were, at the end of the day, Helena's enemies.

And they _had_ crossed half the continent together. From Edge City to New York, to Vancouver to Tijuana to where they were now. And in those few months, they had swept the streets clean of the vermin that crawled them, while targeting local branches of the Italian mob – which was Helena's idea and requirement, of course. It had been great. But her family came first.

"Helena," she began, lowering her voice, "I have to go back. They need me there – my _family_ needs me." She licked her lips. "I – I left the _League of Assassins_ for my family. So, if – if you won't come with me..." _Then I can leave you, too. _

She didn't say the words but she knew Helena had heard them all the same. It was clear in the thinning of her mouth and the narrowing of her eyes; Sara knew there was nothing in the world that would make Helena trust another person entirely, so she was fairly certain she hadn't been all that surprised. More like angered. And in truth, Sara couldn't trust her either – not entirely. It would actually be foolish to have complete faith in the Huntress and her motives; her agenda. That didn't mean Sara didn't enjoy her company, though. And it didn't mean she _wanted_ to leave her behind, if she could help it. They were, after all, partners.

"I'm not going to leave you to the wolves, if that's what you think they are," she told her, taking a step closer. "And Starling City is full of injustice," she added, "especially now. There's plenty for a Huntress to do." She paused for a beat, then said, "But I will go, with or without you. And you can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same. If there's one thing we have in common, it's complete loyalty to those we love."

She knew Helena would appreciate the honesty, if nothing else.

It took a while to get an answer, but Sara waited her out. Eventually, Helena closed her eyes, and sighed. "Starling City it is, then," she agreed. "Home sweet home."

* * *

**_Starling City, California_**

**_Present day_**

Felicity tried to get her brain to shut up. Yet for all her efforts, it kept ringing with the same tune.

_Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock._

_Tick-tock, goes the clock_.

She didn't know how much time had gone by. The handcuffs remained on her wrist the entire time, and her abductors definitely weren't gracious hosts, because they didn't supply her with either food or water; she supposed it was something the mafia did in these situations, for further _incentive_ to have their demands met.

Which they wouldn't be. Because the Arrow wasn't coming.

_He's not coming_.

Sometimes, her captors left her alone in the room. Sometimes, a quiet fellow checked up on her. Sometimes, China White herself did. They'd trade words she didn't understand, and when what sounded like gibberish filled her ears, she thought that maybe she should have roped Oliver into teaching her Chinese.

_Oliver_. He was gone. Probably already swinging from trees or killing wildlife or making bug soup or whatever it was he did on Lian Yu. Maybe he stood on the beach and broodingly stared at the mask and arrow he'd planted there – was it a twisted sort of shrine or a reminder that friendship didn't last? Probably the latter. He certainly seemed to follow that philosophy in all things. Nothing really lasted for him. Definitely not his presence.

_He's not coming_.

Her mouth was dry. And her tongue felt like it had gone bad or something similarly disgusting. Not as disgusting as the bucket they'd left her for her 'basic necessities' – now _that_ was disgusting.

And her body hurt all over – what with not moving it and all that. Her shackled wrist was basically a horror story at this point. Her spine felt like it was probably in the process of calcifying. And muscle atrophy was happening, too, she was pretty sure. Also, her head pounded. Could be from the lack of sleep – she was quite tired, actually, but she couldn't let herself sleep. She knew better than to fall asleep with the vultures circling. Diggle may not have been able to teach her how to throw a punch, or get out of handcuffs, or intimidate enemies into submission, but she wouldn't fail him on this; she'd stay vigilant.

She wondered about Diggle. He had to have seen the calling card, whatever it had been – probably her phone. That was what she would use. Also, her phone was equipped with a tracker, which would have led the cavalry at the bad guys' door a long time ago. So, definitely her phone.

And Digg was smart, especially when it came to this stuff, so he'd do some recon, and then he'd make plans like soldiers did, and he'd probably strap a lot of riffles to his back – or maybe just one, and he'd fill his belt and socks with sidearms, and he wouldn't be very theatrical about his entrance, unlike a certain _someone_, and then it would be Digg to the rescue. It couldn't take him that long. He was good at this stuff. So, it couldn't take him long. Right? It felt like a long time already, though. But that was probably because she was the one held captive. It was bound to feel longer to her. Right? He'd be here soon, though. He would.

Right?

She tried to stop the prickling in her eyes, but much like with her brain, there was nothing she could do stop her tears from falling.

_No one's coming_.

* * *

He was close to just throwing caution to the wind, and going in there by himself. He could take them all on.

Even as he considered the idea, Diggle dismissed it. If there was one thing Felicity wouldn't forgive him for, it would be getting killed while trying to save her.

It was the only thing that kept him from gearing up instead of sitting in Verdant's basement and looking at the door every five seconds. He had found Felicity's cellphone, with the message intended for Oliver, along with a set of coordinates that led to one of the many abandoned buildings in the Glades. Diggle had scouted the place, eventually concluding that it wasn't where they were keeping Felicity; it was just a trap for Oliver to walk into. Not that Diggle would have expected anything else.

Members of the Triad came and went, and Diggle followed a select few, which led him to Felicity's true location. The warehouse she was held in was very heavily fortified, too; the Triad had obviously anticipated the eventuality of this location being discovered. They were waiting for the Arrow either way.

Except the Arrow was cooped up on an island in the middle of nowhere, and Diggle would have cursed his name for leaving, but there would be time for that later. Hauling him back was not an option – not with the timeframe the Triad had set. For John to go in alone was also not an option – well, it was a last resort.

What he counted on was back-up in the form of one Sara Lance. He knew Felicity had told her to come back, and he was sure she would. With her help, he could get to Felicity. But he had to wait for her. It killed him to wait.

His other option was Roy – but that was _really_ his last resort. The kid would make a mess. Bringing Lance and the PD could also be a possibility, but with their _tactics_, it was quite likely none of them would come out of it alive, not to mention that it would raise too many questions – so, they were the option he considered even _after_ Roy.

Sara was his best option.

But time was running out, and if she didn't come soon –

The beep he'd been _praying_ to hear finally echoed through the basement. He whirled to face the clattering of footsteps down the stairs, and froze. "What the hell is _she_ doing here?"

* * *

Her mind was getting hazy, and it took all the effort in the world to not close her eyes, but there they were again, the white-haired leader and her muscle, talking in words she didn't understand, and chancing glances at her. She didn't need to know Chinese to guess what they were saying, though.

_He's not coming_.

She could have told them that.

_No one's coming_.

So, essentially, she was screwed.

She was getting too tired to hold her head up. She heard one last command from China White, though. She didn't need to speak Chinese to figure this one out, either. _Kill her._

The instructions may have been a little more complex than that, because they were followed by nothing but silence for a while, long after China White had gone out of sight.

But the clock was still running.

So, in the end, the sharp sound of a gun being cocked was inevitable. Felicity closed her eyes.

The shot, however, didn't come.

Instead, there was suddenly noise – a _lot_ of noise – and scuffle and struggle.

She felt tears wet her cheeks as she forced herself to look, to see what was happening. It was all blurry and her head throbbed from the loudness, and it was dark, but she still saw the stark flash of bleach-blonde hair.

_Sara_.

Sara had come for her.

* * *

"_East entrance is secure_," Sara heard Diggle's voice through her earpiece, from where she and Helena were ducking in the shadows by the northern one.

Diggle had done a good job with the recon, noting that of the three possible points of entry; one was boarded, which left two to be covered – by both the Triad and the rescue party. One was their way in, the other one their way out. Diggle had made sure the coast was clear on the latter – which had come as something of a surprise, actually. The number of people inside was smaller than during his recon, which meant that they were really cutting it close to the deadline.

"All right," Sara said. "It's our turn."

From where she was crouched at her right, Helena raised her crossbow, taking her aim. "I hope you appreciate all I do for you," she commented before she released her arrow; the lone guard at the entrance fell to the ground a second later.

"This is not for me," Sara corrected, straightening to her full height. "It's for Felicity."

"Well, I'm mostly just doing it as a favor to you," Helena informed dryly, another arrow loaded and at the ready as they made their way inside. The warehouse was predictably bare of any ornaments, and the electricity had obviously been cut a long time ago, too; the only source of light now where the windows. There was also a noticeable lack of human presence, which did not sit well with Helena.

"And I was also rather hoping to have some fun," she said. "So far, this is disappointing."

"_Of course you'd be disappointed by being denied the chance to up your body count,_" came Diggle's irritated response through the comms.

Helena merely smirked. "What's a huntress without her prey?"

Sara didn't bother paying attention to the rest of their sarcastic back-and-forth.

They did that, apparently.

_Her_ concern, however, was Felicity. And it seemed like they were finally getting to her.

Sara raised her hand, halting both Helena's movements and her and Diggle's exchange. "There," she said, pointing to the half-open door down one of the corridors, and the three long shadows it cast on the floor; human shadows.

"Let's go." Helena followed her lead, keeping her crossbow at the ready as they kept to the wall, using the darkness to their advantage.

Finally, they were at the entrance, treated to the partial view of an extended arm, holding a gun.

Sara charged, kicking at the door to give Helena her clear shot. The gun was out of the man's hand the next moment and he was howling in pain, an arrow in his wrist.

The other two men in the room pulled their own weapons, opening fire. Sara ducked to the left while Helena went right.

While she would take pleasure in engaging them hand-to-hand, subduing them with her blows alone, they couldn't waste time. So, Sara reached for her trusted device, straightening to her full height while the men dropped their guns and went to their knees, their skin cut by the raining glass.

And when it stopped, she went to them. They didn't have time to waste, but it only took her a second to break their necks. Under other circumstances, she might consider sparing them, but these two...well, she had a _personal_ gripe with them, for once.

Both their necks broke with loud cracks.

Leaving them to drop to the ground, Sara turned to Helena, where she had the third man in a chokehold. "You know, I've killed some of your friends before," she heard Helena say. "I'd think you and your little organization remember me. But just in case you need reminding..."

The man fell to the floor next, his neck broken, too.

Helena enjoyed getting her brand of justice wherever she could get it, Sara had learned, and she had a particular affinity for dispensing it to members of mafia empires – for obvious reasons.

Her attention, however, was on the slumped-over figure behind the Huntress. She dashed past her, crouching down. "Felicity?" she called out, taking her face in her hands. "Can you hear me?"

Felicity's response was slow, her face drained of color and with heavy circles under her eyes, but when her eyelids fluttered open, she began to smile, ever-so-feebly. Sara smoothed over her hair. "You're safe now," she told her. "We're getting you out of here."

Felicity merely slumped forward, resting her cheek on Sara's shoulder.

She felt Helena's presence at her side next, following her movements to where she broke the handcuffs around Felicity's wrist.

"Let's move out," Helena said next, and with a nod, Sara rose to her feet, bringing Felicity with her. She slung her over her shoulder, carrying her while Helena covered them during their exit. Diggle was waiting for them with the getaway car.

After that, they'd be en route to the club basement Felicity liked to call home. Or used to, anyway.


	11. II The Coveted - Ch 3

**To Be a Bird of Prey**

_**Origins**_

**_II. The Coveted_**

_Chapter Three_

The basement of Verdant looked about the same as Sara remembered it. The complex set-up of computers, the glass casings, the weapons; the green hood.

Things were different, though. Oliver wasn't there.

And his absence was as tangible as his presence used to be.

Felicity laid on the basement's metal table reserved for unconscious injured parties, with an IV in her arm and a blanket wrapped snugly around her.

Sara stood right by her side, her eyes flickering to her monitored vitals every few seconds. Diggle stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. Helena half-sat on one of the tables, leg propped on a crate on the ground, in a stance Sara thought was a form of taunt towards Diggle.

And the silence between them all was rather awkward.

Sara decided she should break it, by sticking to neutral subjects. "I think the Triad got the message," she said, feeling her voice was unusually loud in the quiet space, "but someone should still stay with Felicity. At least for some time."

Diggle nodded. "They might want to retaliate, too," he pointed out. "Or they might still think Oliver's around. In any case, we need to keep her safe."

"Get her a gun," Helena commented, in a tone that very much implied she was rolling her eyes.

Predictably, it made Diggle's posture turn very hostile. "This isn't any of your business," he warned.

Sara closed her eyes, and sighed.

"You may want to be a little more grateful," Helena fired back, "seeing as it was _my_ shot that saved your little friend here from a bullet to the head. Maybe I should have just let that guy pull the trigger."

"Considering you _threatened_ her life the last time you were here – "

"And now I helped save it," Helena cut in. "So we're even."

"Not by a long shot," Diggle said.

Helena was gearing up for a retort, but the soft mumbling sounds coming from the metal table made them all quiet. Diggle stepped closer while Sara watched intently, focused on the fluttering of Felicity's eyelids. When they lifted fully, Sara smiled down at her. "How was your nap?" she asked softly.

Felicity blinked a few times while a small frown creased her brow; she seemed to center herself after some moments, and her lips parted as if she wanted to speak. All that came out of it was a faint croak.

She cleared her throat and tried again. "Guess I didn't dream all of that," she whispered, her gaze dropping downward.

"No," Sara told her, "but you're safe now." Her own eyes lingered on Felicity's hand, where it lay at her side against the metal, and she moved to grasp it; weakly though as it was, Felicity squeezed back.

"Well, that's debatable," came Helena's comment, and Felicity's reaction was instantaneous. Her eyes lifted to the other woman and widened, as she stuttered, "Wh – what are – "

"Hi." Helena pushed herself off the table, coming closer. Sara shot her a warning glance. "Don't give me that look," Helena told her. "You're the one who insisted I come here."

"Sara, what's – what's happening?" Felicity's quiet question made Sara sigh. She ran her thumb over her knuckles to soothe her, then said, "She's with me. I was with her when I got your message. We came here together."

"We _rescued_ _you_ together," Helena supplied.

Felicity's eyes bounced between the two of them, and every new piece of information only seemed to confuse her further. "You – you're working with her?" she let out.

Diggle made a little sound, as if to agree with the sentiment behind the query.

Before Sara could try and explain, Helena was piping in. "Considering whom _the two of you_ were working with before he left you hung out to dry," she remarked, "I don't think you're well-placed to take the moral high-ground on anyone's choice of partners."

The remark was biting, and it cut just the way Helena had wanted it to; by drawing all the attention back to the very noticeable absence in the room.

Sara watched as Felicity's eyes went over the corners out of habit, searching but not finding what they were looking for, and she watched as they slowly filled with tears.

While Sara tightened her hold on Felicity's fingers, John laid a comforting hand on her forearm, just above where a bandage was wrapped around the bruised wrist of her other hand. "You know he'd be here if he knew, Felicity," he told her kindly.

"But that's just the point, right?" she whispered, then sniffled. "He _doesn't_ know because he's _not_ here. And that's – that's a choice he made. He chose to leave even if – " she blew out a quiet breath – "even if that meant he wouldn't be here if _things_ happened." She sniffled. "So, there's that."

A tear escaped the corner of her eye and she turned her head away, burrowing her cheek in the makeshift pillow they had made her and tucking her chin in the crease of her shoulder.

"Did you really expect better?"

_Dammit, Helena_, Sara thought.

"I think it's time for you to leave," Diggle issued another warning, with a definite threat lacing his words this time.

Helena raised an eyebrow. "You know, I'm really starting to feel unwanted around here."

"That's because you are."

"Digg," Felicity muttered softly, in a tone Sara would associate with someone calling off their protective big brother. And John seemed to understand that, falling back.

Felicity raised her head next, only a fraction, to look at Helena. "I kind of owe you my life now," she said, "so...thanks for that, I guess."

Sara followed Helena's reaction out of the corner of her eye, withholding the urge to smile at the oddly blank expression on the Huntress's face; Felicity had surprised her with her gratitude, that much was clear, throwing her in for a loop when all she had expected was to be torn to pieces. Being blindsided into not having to play defense would throw off even the best of them, Sara supposed.

After some uncomfortable moments, Helena cleared her throat. "Well, I think I _will_ go now," she announced, exchanging looks with Sara as she retreated. She gave her a slight nod, which Sara returned; she'd told Helena about the place she favored in the city, the clocktower in the Glades. They had agreed to stay there, for however long their business kept them in Starling. Sara surmised it would be longer than Helena would have liked.

Sara tracked her movements until she disappeared out of sight, and as the door clicked shut behind Helena, she could practically feel Diggle's eyes boring down on her. With a soft sigh, she met his, unsurprisingly, disapproving gaze.

"Something else you'd like to say, Digg?" she asked.

He stayed quiet for a moment, then shrugged. "Not really," he said. "I'm just surprised at your..._choice of partners_."

"She's not as bad as you think she is."

"No, actually, Sara, I think she's way worse than _you_ think she is," he retorted. "She's a psycho – a stone-cold killer!"

"And so am I!" Sara matched his tone. "I was an _assassin_ for years. My body count _by far_ exceeds hers, and if that's what you think of her, then I have to wonder what you think of _me_."

He dropped his eyes to the ground, shaking his head. "It's not the same," he defended. "She doesn't care about the destruction she leaves in her wake, about the _collateral damage_." He threw his arms out. "She was willing to start a full-blown mob war just to get to her father, she would kill _anyone_ – McKenna Hall is still learning how to _walk again_ after your new partner shot her femur to pieces!" He drew a sharp breath there, as if to calm himself, then repeated, more quietly, "It's not the same."

Sara pursed her lips. "You're right, it's not the same," she said. "I killed people I was _told_ to kill – the way an assassin does. The same way your brother's killer does." Diggle reeled back, like the mere idea was outrageous, but Sara went on. "See, you're right, I'm not like Helena – I'm more like Deadshot," she concluded. "Except I didn't even get paid. And you want to speak about collateral damage? Every person I killed while with the League was collateral damage in Ra's al Ghul's endgame, and I played along to save _my_ life." She felt the burning of tears in her eyes and ducked her head, pulling a deep breath through her nose. "So, if Helena's irredeemable, then so am I – maybe even more so."

Diggle looked distinctly uncomfortable after she was done. Eventually, he only said, "I didn't mean to offend you, Sara."

"I know," she assured. "And I get that...your _history_ with Helena makes you wary. But she _is_ my partner," she asserted, "and she was on your side tonight. I think that counts for something."

Eventually, Diggle nodded. Sara doubted it had made him any more inclined to welcome Helena, though. So, she dropped her eyes down, to Felicity.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," she apologized. "_Again_."

Felicity's shoulder moved against the table, in a small shrug. "I'm just glad you're here."

Her voice was quiet and thick, and Sara knew she was thinking of the one person who _wasn't_ here again. While she understood Oliver's thought process better than she'd like, though she did not condone it, Sara also understood that Felicity's loyalty was absolute; and it hurt not be shown the same kind of loyalty in return.

So, she ran a soothing hand over Felicity's hair. "Get some more rest," she said. "You're dehydrated and exhausted. And your body heals best when you're sleeping." She patted her hand one last time before letting go. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Felicity gave her a little smile, while Diggle offered her a nod of farewell, and with that, Sara was on her way. Before she met Helena back in the clocktower, she needed to make a stop first. To check up on her sister.

From the little information Diggle had supplied her with, Laurel hadn't spoken to anyone since she and Felicity had been taken by Slade Wilson. And Slade was, in himself, a whole other can of worms Sara wished she could keep sealed. But that past had spilled into this present and sooner or later, she knew she would have to face the part she had played in that history. With both Felicity _and_ her sister.

Still, she needed to check up on Laurel first.

And then, she would need to speak to her father.

* * *

Sara sat at the counter's far end, waiting for her father to come through the doors of their rendezvous place of choice.

She had looked through Laurel's window not an hour earlier, watching her sister cloaked in darkness save for the lone lamp that cast shadows on her face. Sara had seen papers scattered around, clothes slung over chairs haphazardly and far too many empty wine bottles. And Laurel –

Laurel looked terrible.

And now, Sara was meeting their father.

She smiled when the door was pulled open with far too much enthusiasm, and her father appeared in sight, his eyes taking in the patrons until they landed on her; he crossed the space in barely a few hurried strides.

Sara welcomed his hug, letting him hold her as tightly as he liked, for as long as he liked.

"I missed you, baby," she heard him say, and squeezed him tighter for a moment.

"I missed you, too, Daddy," she told him softly, taking a deep breath before pulling away.

"I didn't think you'd be back," he said, running a hand over her hair. "Not for a while, anyway."

"I wasn't planning on it." Sara stepped away from his arms, retaking her seat; her father followed suit. "But I had to," she said. After a beat, she added, "Felicity sent me a message. She said I was needed here...that Laurel needed me, after what happened."

Her father gave her a studying look, then sighed. "You probably know more about it than I do, then," he concluded. "The truth is, I don't – " He sighed again, and ran a hand over his face. "I'm not sure _what_ happened. When we got to Queen's offices, we just – we found nothing. Laurel barely said a thing about it. Oliver only mentioned this..._man_ who'd taken them hostage, said he didn't know him. Ms. Smoak didn't say much, either."

Sara looked away. She hadn't expected either Oliver or Felicity to mention Slade Wilson's name if they could help it – and Laurel had evidently made it easier for them to keep it secret. Diggle had said that Oliver's alter-ego had been kept secret from Laurel, too, so all that she did know was that a man named Slade Wilson had a score to settle with him; she knew who she had been meant to stand-in for, too. And _that_ was what worried Sara the most.

" – apparently, Oliver tossed him out of a window, but we found no body, and it only accounts for part of all the broken glass – "

She whipped her head around to face her father again. "Broken glass?"

He looked a little startled by the interruption, and the query, but eventually, he nodded. "Every glass surface in the place was shattered," he informed. "I have no idea how. The best theory we have is that the lunatic who took them did it for sport but – well, it's not much of a theory, is it?"

That was...strange.

She would have to ask Felicity about it. But it was also not what she wanted to speak to her father about.

"I think you're going to have to accept that you won't get all the answers here, Dad," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "So, you _do_ know more about this than I do?"

Sara gave him a little shrug in response. He shook his head at her, then asked, "Okay, then can I know where you've been?"

"Here and there," she told him, and he didn't seem to appreciate the vague response. So, she added, "I was in Coast City for a while." She smiled. "Watching over Mom."

"Does she know – "

"No." Sara shook her head. "She can't know I'm alive. Not yet." _Maybe not ever_. Too many people knew already – her father above all. It wasn't safe for him to know, in more ways than one. It wasn't safe for his own life, and if the League ever caught up with her and decided she had to pay her price for leaving, it wouldn't be safe for his heart, either.

Shaking that line of thought off, Sara said, "I was there for a few weeks. Then I...bounced from one place to another. I was actually in Argentina when Felicity called." She shrugged. "I packed and came straight here."

Her father hummed. "Well, the city's a mess – again. I think the Arrow could use your helping hand, actually."

Sara dropped her gaze to her hands. "The Arrow's gone, Dad," she whispered.

She could feel her father's posture shift beside her. "_Gone_?" he let out. "Is he – "

"He's not dead," she assured. "He's just...gone." She sighed. "And I don't think he's coming back anytime soon."

It was a while before her father spoke again. "So...does that mean _you're_ staying?"

She couldn't, not for long. But for now, she was needed.

"For a little while," she said. "At least until things...settle." With a deep breath, she added, "I went to see Laurel. She's not well, Dad."

It was his turn to look away. "No, she's not," he agreed, quietly. "She's not been well for a while now. Ever since the quake, and Tommy..." He shook his head. "She went after the Arrow, and that fell through, and then she...got all these ideas about Alderman Blood and how he wasn't who he said he is, and now _this_, whatever it was...and I don't know how to help her with any of it," he admitted, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose; Sara knew he was trying to hold back his tears, and felt some of her own burn at the corners of her eyes.

"Maybe if you talked to her, Sara – "

She shook her head resolutely. "No, Dad – "

"Baby, look – " he covered her hand with his own – "you did a bad thing back then, with Oliver, but...you're still her little sister. She loves you, misses you. She'll forgive you."

Sara wished she could believe it would be as easy as that. And there were things her father didn't know, about her and Oliver. But Laurel did now, thanks to Slade.

"Maybe," she allowed. "But there are other things to worry about, too."

"That's an understatement," her father grumbled. "This mysterious kidnapper, we have no leads on him – or any idea when or if he'll return. Or even what he wanted." He pursed his lips. "Of course, I think _you_ do have an idea, but I won't get to hear it. And then there's Merlyn...God only knows how _he_ came back. But he's nowhere to be found, either. The Glades are a mess, everyone's in a panic, everyone's outraged...we were barely recovering from the quake, and then he struck again."

Sara frowned. "He just disappeared? Merlyn, I mean."

"Yeah. He had Thea Queen. Ms. Smoak said the Arrow was going after him, and last I heard, he found nothing when he got there."

"That sounds like he fled," Sara whispered, more to herself than her father.

"Who the hell knows what goes on through his head? He's a madman. But, he did leave the Glades scattered...crime's on the rise again. We can barely keep up – actually, no, we can't keep up, which is why it's a good thing you're here." He gave her a little smile. "Even if it's just you."

Sara bit her lip. "Actually, Dad...it's not _just_ me."

Her father frowned. "You said the Arrow was gone."

"He is," she said, "but...I sort of met someone else while I was away, and they came here with me."

"Who?"

Considering what she had been told about her father's encounters with the Huntress, it was probably for the best not to go down that road just yet. "I can't really tell you," she said. "But I think you'll probably know soon enough." They were in the Huntress's hometown, after all, and every arrow of hers was a statement.

* * *

At least there were actual windows in this tower.

Well, if one could call a glass clock face with a hole in it a window.

Helena pressed her forehead against the cool surface, letting her eyes go over the city down below one more time. The whole of Starling was within her sights; the middle class apartment buildings and townhouses, the business district and its skyscrapers, the rich neighborhoods from where she had come. The Glades.

The Glades stood out from this high, like pitiful ruins in the middle of a harmonious landscape. She hadn't seen them after the quake, hadn't really cared. But the damage sustained then was still far from repaired – and now, they had been damaged again.

The soft clangs of metal and creak of leather sounded from behind her, until a quiet thud of feet hit the ground; apparently, stairs and doors were still for crazy people. Not Sara Lance.

"I'm starting to see a pattern with your hideouts of choice, you know," Helena commented.

"It's a good – "

"Yeah, yeah, a good vantage point," she finished the argument for Sara.

She heard the quiet huff of a chuckle before Sara stepped up to her, taking a place at her side. "You can see the whole city from up here," she said.

"Is that really the way to go here?" Helena countered. "This city's not exactly a sight for sore eyes these days."

Sara's eyes went over the city, and Helena knew she kept her attention on the Glades. "No, it's not," she agreed. "Malcolm Merlyn made very sure of that."

"The Dark Archer." Helena hummed. "Last time he was here, half the Glades fell. The little explosion he set off this time pales in comparison."

"That's because he fled," Sara said, piquing Helena's interest. "I spoke to my father," she added. "He said Merlyn had Oliver's sister, then when Oliver went to fight him, he was just gone."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "From what I heard about him, he doesn't seem like the kind of man who would cower before the Arrow. Much less flee."

"He wouldn't," Sara agreed. "He fled from someone else."

Well, she knew _that_ tone. Helena looked Sara over, noting the tense posture and set jaw. There was one subject, she had learned, that got the Canary in this state. "You know, I never asked," she began, "but those people I helped you with in Coast City...they were dressed like the Dark Archer." She shifted her stance, to face Sara more fully. "Was he part of the League, too?"

She didn't get her answer right away, but in the end, Sara nodded. "He was," she said. "But Ra's al Ghul released him."

Helena frowned. "If getting released is an option, why did _you_ run?"

"It's not – an option, I mean." Sara sighed. "Or maybe it was, just...not for me. But Merlyn didn't honor the terms of his release. He used what he was taught for his own gain, his own agenda. That's betrayal."

"So...Ra's al Ghul wants him dead, I assume?"

Sara pressed her lips together and when the words came out of her mouth, they sounded strained. "He does."

Helena took another step closer. "The Dark Archer wouldn't cower before the Arrow, but he would before Ra's al Ghul," she concluded. "You think he's here."

"No," Sara said. "I'd be dead already if he were. But I think – " She took a deep breath, then tried again. "I think he _was_ here. And if he wasn't, then he's coming."

"So, all the more reason for us to leave as soon as we can."

"No, Helena, I _can't_." She turned to her, eyes flashing with the kind of stubbornness that had brought them to Starling in the first place; Helena clenched her teeth.

"Why not?" she let out. "We saved your little friend, you saw your family – and they're _fine_."

"They're not fine!" Sara raised her voice. "They still need me! And _I_ still need to keep them safe!"

"They've managed without you for _six_ years," Helena countered. "But _you_ are running for your life, and you're prepared to risk it for – _what_, exactly?"

It looked like there were tears in Sara's away before she turned away; her head bowed and her hands came up to cover her face. Helena heard the ragged breath she took, saw her shoulders slump then straighten. She waited for her answer, though she was pretty sure what it would be.

"I can't leave," Sara said. Craning her head around just enough to look over her shoulder, she added, "You can, if you want to. I could never ask you stay just to fight my battles."

Sometimes, Helena wondered if Sara still only spoke all the right things to keep her at her side. She couldn't ask her to stay, no; but she could entice her with promises of battles.

And besides, they were both big on loyalty.

Helena cast another look at the city beneath them, then nodded. "I'll stay."


End file.
